Vengeance
by Kendoka Girl
Summary: Old grudges run deep in Ferelden and Arl Rendon Howe schemes to cut out one wrong only to open a gaping wound that would bleed the entire kingdom dry. But, a young woman's entire family is slaughtered and she survives certain death to deliver vengeance
1. Grudges

W/N - Thanks so much for checking out Tea, Incense, and the Sea. I wanted to do something nostalgic with Sten. I'd like to take a look now at Arl Rendon Howe, one of the big villains of DA:O. I'd like to see if I could give him a little more human touch and set up the pattern of vengeance that runs deep in the DA story. I'm trying to draw a bit on my knowledge of the Wars of the Roses, which seems to have political parallels with DA. I've got a couple of sword fights brewing in future chapters.

Other malarkey - I wrote another page of the ME1 ending that I let languish. Admiral Margot Kimmel's treason will bear fruit for the Collectors soon, but Shepard and Kaidan get to enjoy Christmas first.

My nephews and nieces wore me out at Thanksgiving dinner. I burned more calories than I took in for sure. I battled my sensei to a draw, 4-4, in our last Kendo bout. I have also been teaching the beginners' Iaido (drawing and cutting with the katana) class. I guess that makes me Alice Sensei. :P

**Vengeance**

**Highever Castle – Before the Battle of Ostagar**

At first, it was extremely difficult to keep his cool…to control his expressions…to lie to his lord, the man with whom he had fought side by side to drive out the Orlesians from their land long ago. A major slipup would give it all away and until the deed was done, he would surely hang should he fail. But, the head of such a noble house could never die like a common criminal. Once it was all over, the victors would write history.

At three bells past noon, Arl Rendon Howe arrived at Highever with the vanguard of his army to pay homage to and to support Teryn Bryce Cousland in the coming battle with the Darkspawn. In the face of a growing chill, Rendon pulled off his doeskin gloves with a snort and slapped them on the pommel of his saddle, knocking the dry dust out of the soft material. He swung his right leg over the saddle's cantle and hopped down to the cobblestone courtyard, his boots clicking on the ground as his spurs jingled. He took a long look up at the stone and mortar walls of the Highever Castle and they were indeed formidable, flanked with angled turrets and gatehouses that sported arrow slits and holes for boiling oil. It would be nearly suicidal to assault during a stand up siege. Fortunately, that wasn't going to happen. He looked up and saw that dark clouds were gathering. _It might actually rain after all. _He tucked his gloves into his sword belt and tasted the clear, Highever air. Its scent would be even sweeter when it was his. Once the grooms had taken the horses of the cavalry to the stables and the infantry were shown to the barracks, the Arl met the Teryn in the throne room.

It had become an increasingly bitter pill to swallow to bow to his liege lord. Rendon Howe was a powerful lord in his own right, owning the vast and wealthy fief of Amaranthine. The deepwater ports along the coast of his lands made for rich trade with Rivain, Antiva, the Free Marches, the Tevinter Imperium, and even hated Orlais. With such fortune in gold and arms, why should the Arl bow to any man save the King, fool that King Cailan Theirin was?

In the stately throne room of Highever Castle, Howe cast his eyes across the many banners that hung from the stone walls. He recognized a score of the tapestries as having been seized from Orlesian chevaliers during the war of liberation for Ferelden. Those _should_ have been his banners. _He_ had earned them just as much as the Teryn had. Just because his father sided with Orlais, the Howes have had to bend the knee to the Couslands. Rendon snorted and curled his lip. Things would change.

His valet took his riding coat, which now smelled of horse sweat, and helped him don an elaborate blue doublet, leather vest, and cape. The Arl would look his best for this event. After all, what was soon to pass would become history and the artists and scribes would need good subject matter. He stroked the little gray soul patch on his chin and strode forward to greet the Teryn of Highever.

With a grand flourish and bow, Rendon swept his cape back with his right hand. "My lord, it is good to see you again," he said in his dry, aristocratic manner.

In contrast, Bryce Cousland was all smiles as if he were genuinely glad for the meeting. The Teryn bowed in return, sweeping a hand past his gold and crimson satin doublet, lined in fur. "None of the 'lord' nonsense, Rendon, we have known each other for too long for such formalities. Thank you for answering the call. From what the messengers have said, King Cailan will need all the troops he can muster to defeat the Darkspawn. Initial indications are that this is indeed a Blight."

Rendon sighed. "I am not so convinced, Bryce. However, I have answered the call dutifully. My councilors will be joining us shortly to discuss the battle plans."

"Well, the true status of the Blight remains to be seen, but we shall prove our fealty to the king regardless. I trust that you had no problems on the road to Highever?"

Rendon felt a flush of heat rush along his cheeks and he looked away momentarily. An icy pit formed in his stomach for just a heartbeat and then went away. He forced an awkward smile. "Hmmm, truth be told, the rains in Amaranthine have turned the roads into quite the quagmire. The main body of my army is still bogged down on the march just past the border." There was no turning back now. Bryce's scouts could easily counter that story and reveal that the roads to Amaranthine were clear…but that would take hours at the minimum. And, the Couslands didn't have that long. General Loghain Mac Tir needed to hold up his end of the bargain. Fate would now take its course.

Bryce looked disappointed and just a little annoyed. Rendon had received the summons to muster several days ago. Even at the worst of times, an army could march from Vigil's Keep to Highever in two day's time. Always a temperate and forgiving one though, the Teryn shrugged in the end, his face softening. "Well, no matter, I'll send my eldest boy, Fergus, ahead to Ostagar with my men. When your army arrives, we shall ride together again, just like the old days." There was a sense of pride in his manner, his chin back and his hands on his hips.

It was getting easier at this point to put up the front. Bryce appreciated humor and Rendon was glad to deliver. "True, only we didn't have as much gray in our hair back then. And, we fought Orlesians, not Darkspawn," he said, barely disguising his venom for Orlais. All it would take was a few more hours and the Howe fortunes would be restored.

Bryce chuckled. "At least the smell will be the same."

It looked like he was about to say something else when guards opened the doors to the throne room and came to attention. "Lady Alice Cousland, to see the Teryn!"

It had been a couple of years since the Arl had seen Bryce's younger child and she had grown quite a bit, filling out her once lanky frame into an obviously athletic woman. Her black hair was wild and unkempt from training, most likely, as she swaggered in, wearing a leather brigandine with a longsword strapped to her waist in a scabbard. She ran her fingers through her hair to comb out the tangles and she almost looked presentable. Even as a skinny girl, she still ran around like a boy.

Still, he had to admit that, under all of that sweat and grime, she was quite stunning. She might have made a fine wife for his eldest son, Thomas, at one time. But, things had changed. She could never live with what was to come…nor should she. The Couslands always had their honor. It would be a pity, really. If she could only be more like his daughter, Delilah, so gentle and so suggestible. After the reintroduction, Rendon gave the girl an approving nod. "I think she's become a lovely young woman," he told Bryce and he actually meant it. There was just a pang of guilt and regret, but he continued to smile and it went away.

Thomas met Lady Alice a few months ago when the possibility of a courtship and union was still strong. The young man told his father that he found the girl enchanting and alluring…that is once she cleaned herself up and put away her sword. _Sorry Thomas, we will find you another fine bride._ _The Howes will endure._ The Arl did truly love his children; Thomas, Delilah, and Nathaniel. They were the light of his life and he told himself, over and over, that he was doing it for them. He even tried to convince himself that he acted for the good of Ferelden. However, he knew in the very center of his soul that it was ambition that drove him, but he had to sleep with himself and lies of convenience were just part of being a noble.

They exchanged pleasantries for a time before Bryce announced that his daughter would command Highever in his absence. It was difficult to hide the grin that spread across Rendon's face. It would make things much easier to have an inexperienced child to oppose him.

"I will only leave a token force behind in Highever, Pup," Bryce told his daughter. "You will need to keep peace in the region while we are at war."

Rendon nodded his agreement. This just kept getting better and better. Bryce's heir, Fergus, would march out in a few hours with the bulk of the Cousland force – this would be child's play.

Bryce then turned and gestured to a man who was standing along another wall, examining the tapestries. "But, there is someone you must meet." He waved to the guards on that side of the room. "Please, bring Duncan over."

A tall, powerfully-built man sauntered over. His hair was as dark as night and pulled back into a pony tail. The point of his beard was as sharp as any sword as were his piercing eyes. Rendon looked this Duncan up and down and he recognized the livery of…the Grey Wardens. His heart stopped mid beat.

_Maker's breath, does Bryce suspect?_

What could the Warden Commander of Ferelden possibly want in Highever? Whatever it was, it could not be good for the Arl. Rendon's mind raced with thoughts about how to deal with this twist of fate.

Duncan crossed his arms over his chest and bowed. "Teryn Cousland, it is an honor to be a guest in your halls." The Warden had an easy, confident manner, no doubt born of years of combating the Darkspawn in the most foul places in Thedas.

Rendon needed to press for intelligence without tipping his hand. He gulped hard, keeping a tight rein on the twitches in his face. "My lord, you made no mention of a Grey Warden being present."

"Duncan arrived only recently and unannounced. I am under the assumption that he needs recruits to battle the Darkspawn."

At the mention of recruits, Rendon relaxed visibly, nearly tuning out the rest of the conversation. _Recruits for the Grey Wardens,_ he thought, _let the Darkspawn take them all_. So, Bryce did not suspect any foul play. Still, Duncan was a world renowned warrior. His mere presence would be problematic. "A man of Duncan's stature requires certain considerations, my lord. I am…at a disadvantage." The Arl wracked his brain for solutions. A single Grey Warden might be worth ten common soldiers on the battlefield, but the Warden Commander…. The entire scheme could fall apart because of a single unexpected individual. Howe took short, controlled breaths to keep the rise and fall of his chest even and unhurried. He turned back to glance at the captain of his personal guard and made an almost imperceptible nod. The man understood the gravity of the matter. Whether they could actually do something about Duncan was another matter.

As Rendon's mind returned to the conversation at hand, Bryce was still speaking to Duncan about recruits, particularly some knight named Ser Gimli or Ser Giblet or something. The man was a good fighter, but he certainly was no Duncan…or even Lady Cousland for that matter.

Duncan nodded, but then gestured towards young Alice. "If I might be so bold, Teryn Coulsand, your daughter would make an excellent candidate."

Bryce's expression changed immediately. As he crossed his arms and stepped in between Duncan and the lady, Rendon knew that the Warden was right. Howe's intelligence told him that Lady Cousland had learned from the finest sword masters that money could procure and she was held to the highest knightly standards of physical training. There was an unconfirmed rumor that she had defeated both Fergus and her father in a sparring match.

"Honor that it may be, she is still my daughter," Bryce said, his voice elevated now.

For a moment, Rendon actually hoped that this would come about. He was not overjoyed by the idea of what he would have to do to her and her departure to the Grey Wardens might avert that unpleasantness. Once gone to that mystic order, she would have to foreswear any vengeance while the Darkspawn were still a major threat. He never wanted it to be said that he lacked compassion or mercy. The issue came to a head and Duncan put his hands up to appease the Teryn and the matter faded away. _Pity_.

Lady Cousland was clearly unhappy about being relegated to such an ignoble role in history and her lips pursed and her brows furrowed. "But Father, can I not join you and Fergus in the battle?"

Bryce's hand came up instantly, freezing any further protest in her throat. The Teryn launched into a lecture on duty. Alice bowed her head, resuming her compliant posture. It was clear that she loved and respected her father. _You'll get your war soon enough, Lady Cousland._ _No sense in rushing to your death._

_Maker, she is so much like Nathaniel. The same devotion, the same sense of family honor. If only she were born a Howe._

Lady Cousland crossed her arms in front of her chest and bowed to the three old warriors. With a smart, disciplined turn, she marched from the room. Rendon glanced out of a nearby window and realized that it had to be close to five bells. He could smell the air changing and cooling with gathering moisture. Darkness would arrive soon.


	2. Treachery

W/N - I have house guests frolicking about, which has actually motivated me to write and read more. Let's look at things from the other side now and see them through Bryce's eyes. I did a little research on heraldry and, since it's quite important to any medieval story, I'll throw in a little bit. Passant is walking, as opposed to rampant which is an animal up on its hind legs. Tinctures are colors on a coat of arms. I took some of the swordfighting techniques from both Iaido and German Fechtschule or longsword fencing. One cut is from the Japanese kiriageru in which you slice upward into the groin or underarm, blocking an attack at the same time. Another is kaeshi or blocking and cutting over the tip of the opponent's blade and back into him, also known as coupe in fencing.

Other malarkey - My nieces and nephews wore me out, building a railroad, learning to juggle, reading story books, and playing with flying bears. :D I'm contemplating a parody involving the Orzammar One Credit Card... What's in your wallet? Later, we'll look into Loghain's part in this too. I'm going to take a little license and add horses and polearms too.

Otanoshimi nasaemase! Please enjoy.

**Vengeance**

**Highever Castle Throne Room – One Bell Past Midnight**

Bryce Cousland's eyes grew heavy with fatigue and he rubbed them with the backs of his hands to clear his blurring vision. It had been a long day of planning the Cousland's war strategy against the Darkspawn with Arl Howe and his advisors. Maps and communiqués from both King Cailan and Teryn Loghain lay strewn across the grand table, illuminated in the flickering candle and torch lights. Several mugs of ale weren't helping his state of mind and he sipped from a cup of strong apple cider to refresh himself.

"Several thousand of the King's own men have camped in Ostagar along with Teryn Loghain's forces. If we march at dawn, we can rendezvous with the king in four or five days," he told Rendon, pointing to the map of Ferelden and tracing the road south with his finger.

Rendon yawned, covering his mouth with his gloved hand. "With Fergus scouting ahead along the road, we should have no problems or delays in reaching Ostagar."

Bryce was nothing if not thorough and he looked over the order of battle once again, noting the troop strengths and unit designations that would fight. "Still, once we enter the Bannorn, we should deploy skirmishers and cavalry pickets ahead of the main body to screen our advance."

"I will make the orders once the main body of my army arrives."

"Excellent. I've read the intelligence reports that the King sent with his messengers and they put the Darkspawn numbers at nearly ten thousand. Together, you and I can put five thousand more spears on the field. This should stop the Darkspawn once and for all."

Bryce took another sip of cider and nodded. He had laid out troop formations, orders of march, and, above all, supply wagons for the army. No force could fight without food, arrows, and water. Andraste herself demonstrated that to the Tevinters when she burned their fields with the power of the Maker. "Our armies will arrive well fed and rested," he added with confidence. Rendon merely nodded with a half smile. Perhaps the Arl was just tired after a long ride and a night of planning, but he seemed unusually disengaged in the development of the battle plan. _It must be that he is weary. Indeed, we should get some rest before dawn. Eleanor will be cross with me if I look like I haven't slept all night when I ride out on the morrow._

"Speaking of rest," Rendon said, gnawing on a cold sandwich, "you should retire for the night, Bryce. After all, we are no longer young men. I think that you have planned all that you can plan before we arrive in Ostagar."

"Ah, you are right on all counts of course, Rendon," the Teryn said with a chuckle. Maker's teeth, he did feel old now. There was a terrible ache in his neck and back and he massaged his shoulder to ease the kink. He even thought he saw shadows in the dark corners of the hall and he blinked to convince himself that it was just fatigue and not the frailty of age. "Please, get your rest now. I have one last thing to attend to before I can sleep."

"Thank you. I'd like to take one final peek at the front gate to see if my army approaches. I would think that torches would be visible on the road by now." The Arl made a curt bow and withdrew towards the front doors of the hall, flanked by his advisors and personal guards.

Bryce finished the cup of cider and walked over to Ser Gilmore, who was snoozing in a chair under a torch. Gilmore was one of his best knights and it would be a shame to lose him to the Grey Wardens. But, if the Maker willed it, so be it. Better Gilmore than his daughter. The life of a Warden was hard at best, fighting and dying in the foul places of Thedas against a mindless, devouring enemy. She didn't need that, she was a Cousland. There was nothing he wouldn't give her to make her life comfortable and she would make a fine knight soon…and thereafter, a bride. The Teryn cleared his throat and shook Ser Gilmore. "Ahem."

The young knight's eyes flickered open and his mouth opened wide. "Sorry, my lord. I must have fallen asleep." He stood up and came to attention, but Bryce waved him off.

"It's no problem, Ser Gilmore. I merely wanted to talk before I retire."

Gilmore seemed relieved and relaxed a bit. "Of course, my lord."

"Did you have the opportunity to speak with Duncan?"

The knight nodded excitedly, his tired face beaming. "I did. I will be coming with you to Ostagar after all. There, Duncan will perform the Joining and I will be initiated into the Grey Wardens. I mean no disrespect, my lord, but I've waited for this my entire life."

"I am glad to hear that. I am sorry to lose you and sorry that you will not be here to assist my daughter in running the castle while I am away. But, I understand…I know what it is to desire something so much."

"What is it that you desire, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Was, actually…what _was_ it that I desired. It was a long time ago, Ser Gilmore. It was after the Battle of White River when the Orlesians slaughtered us and the rebellion was hanging by a thread," the Teryn said with a sigh. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory…or was it just the night's chill?

"Only fifty of Maric's men survived, if I recall Brother Aldous' long history lessons correctly."

Bryce had to chuckle at that. It seemed like forever ago when Aldous was teaching him the Cousland family history. The brother was probably old enough to have taught Sarim Cousland, the first Cousland Teryn of Highever. "That's right. We fully expected to be caught and hanged by the chevaliers. It was a merciless war. So, what I desired was peace. I wanted peace for Eleanor and the children we were yet to have."

"I think that is a good desire, my lord."

Bryce patted Ser Gilmore on the shoulder and turned to leave when the main doors to the hall opened. The Teryn looked over and smiled wearily. "Ah, Rendon, any news of your army?"

Soldiers, bearing the livery of the Arl, the bear _passant_ on a tincture of gold and white, hurried into the room, flanking the Teryn and the knight. Was this a joke? "Yes, Bryce, my army just arrived." There was a look of bemusement on the man's face as if this was, indeed, a joke. "Throw down your swords, gentlemen and I will give you both a quick death," he said as if merely inviting them to tea.

A deep, cold prickly knotted in Bryce's stomach. This couldn't be. Was Rendon mad? The Darkspawn were massing in the south. "Rendon, what are you doing? We cannot hope to defeat the Darkspawn like this. The king will need every last man." He said the words, but he knew that if the Arl had gone this far, he would not turn back now. He knew Rendon far too well. Bryce slowly backed away, looking for an escape. He had to warn the castle…warn his family. _How did I not see this? I've been such a fool._

"The king will get what he deserves and we _will_ defeat the Darkspawn. Only, it will be on our terms, not that man-child, Cailan's."

"Arl Howe, this is treason!"

"Not when my history is written, Teryn Cousland." With a sharp signal of his hand, his men drew swords and rushed forward.

Bryce threw a chair at the lead soldier as he drew his own sword. The wood splintered as it smashed into the man, throwing him back into another of Howe's men. Ser Gilmore was already in action and flipped one of the tables up into the faces of the attackers. There were grunts and shouts and men swarmed around the obstacle. "Guards! Guard! To me! We are betrayed!" Bryce shouted as his sword flashed from its scabbard. He saw a man come around the upturned table and he thrust the point of his sword into the man's open mouth. The soldier made a gurgling noise and fell where he stood, but another man took his place, shield held in front of his chest.

One of the doors flew open and Cousland guards charged in. "My lord," yelled Gilmore, "get to safety! We'll cover your escape!"

Bryce parried a cut and reversed his blade right back into the attacker's thigh, biting deep into flesh under the shield. The man staggered, but tried to bash the Teryn with his shield. Bryce retreated a step, just enough for the man to leave himself open. From the flank, Gilmore clove the soldier from shoulder to sternum with a two-handed swing of a halberd he had grabbed from the wall. The ring of steel on steel and the thump of blade on wood filled the hall as the Teryn fell back behind the wall of Cousland guards. Through hacking blades and thrusting spears he could see Howe gloating at the arrival of every man to his cause.

"I'll see you hanged, Howe!"

Rendon made a mock bow and flourish as he strode behind his men. "Then it shall be from beyond the Fade, my lord, for you won't live out the night."

Bryce was about to flee from the hall when rage overtook him. This treachery was unforgivable. After all, the Arl must have been planning this. Who was he working with? He could not have done this alone. Abandoning his genteel manner, the Teryn leapt up on a table and unleashed a terrible yell that stopped the attack in its tracks. "Throw the traitors back!" he cried and the Couslands surged ahead. As Howe's men stumbled backwards, Bryce picked up a discarded spear and hurled it at Rendon. The smug look of victory vanished as Howe threw himself to the side to avoid being skewered. The spear flew by the traitor's chest, but buried itself into one of his personal guards, the tip exiting out of the man's back.

The look of fear on Rendon's face drove Bryce forward. That man would _not_ touch his family…not while he still drew breath. The Teryn growled, his face twisted in an almost feral expression. Taking his sword in two hands, he swung the blade down then up, deflecting a cut away as his own weapon sliced into a man's armpit. His daughter may have turned out to be a finer fencer in the long run, but he and the master had taught her everything she knew. Seeing another attack, he pulled his hip back and lowered the tip to parry, letting steel clash on steel. The soldier was experienced, if not expert and Bryce saw his opening as the man moved in. Using the quillons of the hilt, he forced his opponent's blade out of the way, clubbed him in the face with the pommel, and then dragged the edge across the man's throat. He barely noticed the spray of blood as in his madness to kill Rendon Howe.

The Howe men scrambled in retreat to flee from Cousland's vengeance. The last thing Bryce saw before the front doors were slammed shut was the shock on Rendon's face. "Bar the doors, Ser Gilmore. You there," he said, pointing to another guard, "go quickly! Warn my wife and daughter."

The guard sprinted from the room and Bryce took the opportunity to take a breath. He winced and there was a sharp pain in his side that he hadn't felt before.

"My lord, you are wounded," Ser Gilmore said, his mouth wide with horror. The young knight pointed to rivulets of blood seeping down the Teryn's satin doublet.

The battle rage was flowing from Bryce's body now and the aches of age returned along with a growing weakness in his side. "So it seems, my good knight, so it seems."


	3. Horror

W/N - Thanks for the correction, EE. And thank you too, roxfox. We're going to look at the future Warden's POV for a chapter. This chapter is a little bloody. I aways had a good laugh at the "persistant gore" setting in the game where the characters would be smeared with blood. Once, after one battle, there's a hook up scene with Alistair and both are covered in gore. :P Next, I'm either going to do Eleanor's or Duncan's POV. I like describing the various pieces of equipment, but still balancing it with smooth presentation. It's amazing just how many types of medieval helmets exist and how many pieces go into a suit of armor. Towards the end, I'd like to show how the Warden changes as vengeance consumes her.

Other malarkey - Finished the last turkey leftovers with my goddaughter and nephew. I fought a clean kendo bout with sensei, losing 7-5. I blanked my husband, 2-0. I've gotten pretty good at waiting until the last possible second to parry, which makes it hard for my opponent to find an opening. We also worked on Batto Jutsu or walking, drawing and cutting.

Please enjoy! Input and advice is greatly appreciated.

Oyasuminasai - good night.

**Vengeance**

**Highever Castle – Shortly After One Bell Past Midnight**

There was nothing quite so sweet as warm skin against your own bare flesh while you cuddled under a thick fur blanket. It was indeed a very cold night and even the smoldering braziers in the chamber couldn't entirely banish the chill. It took dear, sweet Dairren to do that. A little harmless flirting in the library escalated into a stealthy nocturnal liaison with the young squire in the main keep. In a half dream state Lady Alice Cousland cooed softly, feeling his cheek nuzzle up against the back of her neck. Oftentimes, her Mabari, hound, Cyrano, would sprawl upon her bed while she slept, but tonight, he was relegated to the woven rugs on the floor.

Fortunately, her father would be gone by dawn and her brother had already departed, taking the bulk of the Cousland army south to Ostagar to fight the Darkspawn. She dearly wanted to join them, to prove herself in real combat and to show her father that she deserved his love and respect. Instead, she decided to console herself in the arms of Lady Landra's son. Before they drifted off to sleep, Lady Cousland wondered how she would sneak Dairren out past the chambers of her mother and Fergus' young wife and son, but she knew she would figure something out. That might be a little embarrassing to explain.

Then, frantic barking intruded on her dream, intermingling with images of Dairen's hands caressing her soft skin along with her imaginings of racy books, banned by the Chantry. The barking persisted and she squeezed her eyelids, hoping that it was just an illusion from the Fade. It wasn't. Her eyes flickered open and she sat up with a grunt. As her mind focused, she saw Cyrano, up against the oak door, his ears perked up and his big body set in a fighting stance. Dairren was up a second later, his hand still perched on her waist.

The squire blinked and cleared his throat. "What's wrong with your hound? Doesn't he know what time it is?"

Lady Cousland knew Cyrano well enough to suspect that something was wrong. She'd raised him from the time that he was a pup and, though he was a mischievous one, he was fiercely loyal and knew a threat when he smelled one. Then, she could smell it too, the faint scent of smoke. "Something's amiss, Dairren. There's a fire somewhere."

The young man leapt out of bed before she could say anything and he rushed to the door and placed his hand against the wood. "It's still cool. I don't think that the fire-"

There was a distant crashing sound as if wood were being splintered and Alice jumped from under the quilt, her bare skin prickling in the chill air. Cyrano continued to growl and yap as she reached for her longsword and a dagger. "Dairren, wait-"

"I'll just take a peek outside to make sure it's safe, lady."

Before she could move, he unlatched the bolt and swung the door open. Just past Dairren, she could see armed men fighting. "What the…?" On one shield, she could see the brown bear on a quartered field of gold and white, the livery of the Arling of Amaranthine. It was Howe's men. Why would they…?

"Dairren, get ba-" she began to say as three arrows flew into the room. Two sank into Dairren's chest, burying themselves up to the quills and the third stuck into the bedpost near Lady Cousland's head. Her blood ran cold as she took cover behind the threshold to the door. Gravely wounded, Dairren struggled weakly, clutching at the shafts in his chest, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

A Howe soldier stepped through the door and drew his sword back to finish the young squire, but Cyrano was on him like a slice of beef in the larder. The hound leapt up and took the man in the throat, knocking his helmet off. He tried to pummel the dog in the head, but Lady Cousland stepped out and lopped his hand off at the wrist with a clean cut. She barely thought about how she hadn't even a moment to dress, much less don any armor when two more men squared off behind their shields.

"You'll bleed for that!" one growled, his teeth bared from under his bacinet helm. One man moved to her left to flank her and she let out a whistle. On cue, Cyrano barreled into the man's shield, knocking him back. The soldier tried to bash the massive hound away and only succeeded in opening himself up. Lady Cousland hammered him on the head, her sword glancing away, but knocking him senseless for a crucial moment.

She saw a flash to her right and brought her sword up to deflect the second man's cut at her head. As his blade glanced away, she powered a downward blow, slicing across the man's thigh under his shield. He staggered back, fighting for balance and Lady Cousland ducked under his guard and rammed the point of her dagger into his groin. He let out a horrible shriek and collapsed to the floor.

Lady Cousland took a quick breath and her eyes darted around, looking for other threats as Cyrano's snarls filled her ears. She took an engarde stance, crouched low, tips of her sword and dagger aimed at the commotion. A few feet away, her hound tore into the sword arm of the last attacker as he pounded the dog with his shield. She took a step forward, but an arrow sank into the man's neck, skewering him like a roast pig. For a moment, Alice was at a loss until another shaft flew into the opening of the man's helmet.

"Mother?"

At the door to the Teyrn's keep was Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, dressed in a leather brigandine, holding a bow. The Teyrna's eyes opened wide with an expression of horror as she saw her daughter's naked form. "Alice, did they…?"

It was then that the full realization of the attack sank in and Alice looked down at her bare skin, covered in blood. "No, mother, I was woken up by Cyrano and I had no time to dress before they attacked." She glanced back to her room to see Dairren lolling about on the floor, blood running from his mouth and nose. "Maker's breath, no!"

Leaving her mother, Alice raced back to cradle Dairren's head in her hands. "Dairren, no, hang on! I have some potions. Stay with me."

His eyes were unfocused as he reached up to touch her face. "Lady Cousland…I…. Please remember…," he whispered, blood gurgling up from his lips. His hand fell away from her cheek and he lay still.

She fell back on her behind, looking blankly at her hands, which were covered in blood. A sick, vile, churning feeling grew in her gut and her vision dimmed as if she were going to pass out. Lady Cousland had been trained by the finest fencing masters and had fought many duels, but she had never fought a real battle and had never seen someone die by the sword. She tried to reach for her sword, but her sticky hands shook violently and she could only paw at the weapon. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she pulled away as if she thought someone would strike her.

"Alice, you need to don your armor. We have to find Oriana and Oren and your father as well."

Lady Cousland choked down the taste of bile and nodded as if in a nightmare. Nearly numb, she felt her mother wiping the blood off of her body as she looked for the armor stand in her room. With a damp cloth, now soaked red, Eleanor Cousland washed away the last of the gore from her daughter's face and began to put a shirt over her head.

"I…I can finish, mother," Alice stammered. "Go find Oriana. Fergus will worry about his wife and son."

Eleanor's face was set grimly, her lips pressed together and her eyes narrowed. She made a single nod and rushed away. Gathering her wits, Alice quickly pulled on her underclothes and pulled a hardened leather cuirass from the stand. It was a finely crafted breastplate, nearly as hard as steel, but light with intricate etchings of rearing horses and eagles set into the leather. She pulled the piece over her head and secured the straps at her sides. With precision, born of endless practice, she pulled on cuisses to protect the thighs, greaves to protect the shins, vambraces and rerebraces to protect the arms, boots, and finally a steel helm with cheek guards and a nasal piece, known as a barbute.

She had just donned her helm when she heard an agonized shriek coming from nearby. Without a thought, Lady Cousland bolted up and rushed to her brother's room, expecting another fight. Instead, she saw her mother, kneeling on the ground, cradling Oren's head in her arms. Oriana lay slain nearby, obviously having tried to protect her son by warding off blows from Howe's men. Alice blinked, seeing her nephew and sister-in-law, foully murdered in their rooms. How much more horror could be heaped on the Couslands this night? Her knees went weak and she sagged against the wall as her mother wailed over the dead child. Even Cyrano whined his despair.

Fighting for breath, Alice licked her dry lips and forced her voice to be heard. "Mother, they are taking no prisoners for ransom. Howe means to murder us all." She felt a hot moisture building in her eyes and nose and she bit her lip hard. "If only I had woken sooner. If only I had pulled Dairren away. I…."

"No, my daughter. Nothing can be changed. We will have our vengeance."

Then, Lady Cousland heard a painful groan in the main hall and she walked numbly towards the sound. The Howe soldier that she had wounded in the earlier melee rolled about, gasping. Like the golems of legend, she approached him robotically and knelt down by his head. It looked like he was trying to say something, to beg for mercy, but she was beyond caring. Silently, she drew her poignard, a thick, triangular bladed dagger, designed for puncturing plate armor and she pushed it into his neck. As his eyes clouded over, she leaned over and whispered into his ear.

"Keep the Fade warm for Rendon Howe. We will have our vengeance."


	4. Resolution

W/N - DA really reminded me of GRR Martin's ASOFI and I'm trying to emulate the gritty style of that tale. Thanks so much for the input. I really found it valuable. Beyond just writing for entertainment, I really do hope to continuously improve. I hope here to portray some additional, vivid fight scenes along with a poignant moment. I like a well-rounded tale with drama, romance, and action. This one is from Eleanor Cousland's POV. Next, we'll look through Duncan's eyes.

**Highever Castle – Just After Two Bells Past Midnight**

Small, violent melees continued to be fought all throughout the castle and no quarter was asked or given in this fray born of treachery and deceit. Few conflicts carried the deep hatred of close friendships torn asunder. As the ever diminishing band of Cousland forces fought their way through the castle to the secret sally port, they stepped over body after body, each one a friend or a mentor or a beloved staff member. Teyrna Eleanor Cousland fought with every inch of her being to hold herself together amid the horror and impending annihilation of everything she loved and held dear. Try as she might, she couldn't free herself of the images of murdered Oren and Oriana, Lady Landra, her throat cut, and the venerable Brother Aldous, hacked down and pierced with dozens of dagger wounds. These friends and relatives posed no threat to anyone. _Why_, she asked herself, _why_? What did Arl Howe possibly have to gain from this madness?

Eleanor could see the growing fear and desperation in her daughter's eyes. The girl's entire world was disintegrating in one night. The Teyrna was glad Alice did not have to see the death and destruction of the rebellion against Orlais where, every day, Eleanor and Bryce feared capture, torture, and a short walk to the gallows. With the liberation of Ferelden, she thought the days of deceit and treachery were over, but it was the way of humankind to grasp for power and domination.

"The king cannot ignore Howe's betrayal," she told her small force. "Cailan will set things right. He is a just and fair man. And, we will find the Teyrn. We will survive this." To her, the words seemed hollow, full of hopeless fantasy, but they seemed to reassure the frightened mob.

Alice nodded, her eyes full of hate, reflecting the glow of a dozen fires that raged within the castle. Even through the small opening of the barbute helm, Eleanor could see her daughter's teeth gritted so tight she thought they might snap. She could understand the hate. Perhaps it would keep them alive through the night. If they could only find Bryce. He would know what to do.

Eleanor led them into the chapel so they could catch a breath and reorganize. The adrenaline of the melee in the throne room was just wearing off and she began to feel her age again, her breathing strained and her joints aching. She had hoped that there might be more survivors here, but those hopes were dashed when she saw the bodies of two Templars and Mother Mallol. The murder of any Templars would infuriate the Chantry, but if no one were left to tell the truth, Howe could make up any story he liked. He could even say the Couslands did it. She quickly threw a fallen tapestry over Mallol's body. The priestess had helped to birth both Fergus and Alice and Eleanor didn't want her daughter to remember the dear woman hacked to pieces.

As Cousland knights, men-at-arms, and a few of the servants moved furniture around to make a hasty defensive position, she motioned for her daughter to sit beside her and Cyrano lay down nearby, his ears still perked up. She realized that hope was fading fast and that Ser Gilmore would not be able to hold the Howe army back for long. They would have to make a break for the larder soon, but all she needed was a minute or two. Surely, the Maker could grant her that.

At her command one of the servants laid out a scabbarded longsword and shield that they had recovered from the armory. The triangular shield was made of several layers of laminated wood, covered in leather and rimmed in silverite metal and it bore the distinctive laurel wreath with upturned ends of the Cousland family. She was immensely proud of this heirloom, but the sword was something that she treasured even more. "My dear daughter, these things were meant for Fergus as the heir, but you will need them."

"But…but…."

Eleanor put her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "No buts. We don't know what will happen tonight and we cannot let these treasures fall into Howe's hands. If…when you find Fergus, then give these to him. Until then, they are yours."

She saw Alice's mouth open wide as she handed the weapon to her. Alice took it and unhooked her own sword from her belt and replaced it with the Cousland blade. Eleanor nodded and her daughter drew the weapon and held it in front of her face. She could faintly see her distorted reflection in the fuller of the silver surface. The edges were sharpened to perfection by the finest swordsmiths in Highever and it had upturned quillons to guard the hands and disarm enemies. Just ahead of the guard was an unsharpened part of the blade, known as a ricasso that allowed the user to grasp the blade for leverage. Lastly, the grip was wrapped in blue leather and the pommel, polished steel in the shape of a diamond.

"It's magnificent," Alice said quietly.

For a moment, Eleanor imagined Bryce giving the weapon to their son upon their return from Ostagar. But, it was not to be. She forced a smile. "Come, we have to go now. We don't have much time before Howe traps us."

Alice trembled for a moment, the magnitude of the events seeming to sink in. "Mother…what must I do? How can I make this right?"

Eleanor rose and pulled her daughter up. "You must survive. You must master your fear and harness your talents. Others will see your strengths and come to depend on you. You must learn to lead." The fire in her eyes revealed the gravity of the situation and brought all questioning to an end. She drew out her recurved bow once again and pointed to the Cousland soldiers at the door. "There, lead them."

Alice was hesitant at first, but then strode forward. "Come," she told the troops, we must make it to the kitchens. The Teyrn will likely be waiting for us there, organizing a defense. I need a shield wall in front and archers just behind us. On my signal, we move at the double quick. Above all, stay together."

Amid all of the horror, Eleanor felt a surge of pride. Her children…her family were her life. She vividly remembered Fergus' knighthood, the young man receiving his spurs from Bryce and when Alice first unhorsed a fully grown man during a joust, her lance shattering on his breastplate in a perfect strike.

Just beyond the door now, the soldiers interlocked their shields, holding short spears out in front like the quills of a porcupine. Eleanor took her place just behind them with a small mix of bowmen and crossbowmen along with a smattering of servants with clubs, hammers, and other discarded weapons. Alice silently gave the signal to advance and they all began to jog up the cobblestone path past the throne room. Shouts, howling dogs, and the clang of steel echoed through the streets, signs that there was still resistance…and that meant hope.

As they turned the corner, they saw a group of Cousland guards, hotly pursued by twice their number of Howe men. Alice turned back. "Archers, pick your targets carefully. One volley and then we charge." She raised the Cousland sword and Eleanor raised her bow, aiming down the shaft of an arrow at the back of one Howe soldier. "Fire!"

Eleanor released her fingers from around the bowstring and the arrow leapt from her grasp as the bowstring snapped forward against the leather guard on her left arm. The shaft flew true, shattering chainmail links and sinking several inches deep through the armor. The old Teyrna still had a bite. A moment later, the line surged forward, bodies and armor jostling in the charge. Through bouncing heads and raised spears Eleanor could see some of the Howe men turn just before the opposing forces slammed together.

A fierce warcry arose from the Cousland troops as they thrust spears into the Howe men. Dogs could be heard snarling and shrieking as they were skewered. The impact of the two groups was jarring and the noise of battle nearly overwhelming. Bloody spears went forward and then back as swords and maces rose and fell in a deadly rhythm. From beneath the shield wall, Cyrano darted forward, tearing into the throat of one of the enemy. Too close for any archery, Eleanor felt helpless and could only urge the troops forward. Then, she gasped as a Howe knight, shod in full plate, crashed through the line, smashing one of their soldiers in the head with an axe. The blade made a _pinging_ sound as it clove through the helmet and blood sprayed out of the open face of the helm.

A servant stepped between Eleanor and the knight, brandishing a kitchen cleaver, but the armored man smote him in the cheek with a spiked gauntlet and the elf collapsed in a heap. The Teyrna tried to raise her bow, but there was no time. The knight swung the pointed beak of the backside of the axe at her and all she could do was jump back and throw the bow at him. The desperate move distracted him just enough so that the axe whizzed by her chest. Hands shaking in terror, she yanked out a shortsword from a scabbard and barely knocked away another swing of the axe.

The knight advanced another step and used the momentum of his last attack to bring the weapon back up over his head. Eleanor crouched down, her eyes darting back and forth to look for any escape. She prepared to dodge away, but the knight staggered sideways, his blow going far wide. He crashed into the wall and turned, raising the visor of his bacinet to look for the new threat.

From out of the gloom, created by the smoldering fires, Alice rushed in and drove her blade into the knight's pauldron covering his shoulder. The sword crushed the metal plate, leaving a deep dent in the piece and the knight groaned. He swung his axe wildly, but Alice angled her shield and the weapon glanced off and into the stone wall, chipping rock away. The Cousland sword flashed again and bit into the chainmail covering the knight's armpit. Fragments of metal rings scattered into the air and the man fell to his knees, dropping his weapon.

This would be a savage feud without mercy - no quarter would be given.

As Eleanor watched, Alice stomped the knight in the head several times until he fell flat on his stomach. The young lady tossed her shield away and rolled the man over on his back, holding down his weapon arm with her free hand. Trickles of blood ran from his lips and he tried to raise his other arm in a weak defense. With a feral snarl, Alice drew her arm way back and then plunged the tip of the sword up through the man's nose.

Though relieved, Eleanor was horrified by what they were becoming. There was already a darkness in her daughter that she could see growing to one day consume the young lady. There was no time to dwell on that now though. The kitchens were just ahead. Still trembling from rage, Alice picked up her shield, took a few breaths and rallied the soldiers, maybe a dozen knights and men at arms all told with about the same number of servants. They rushed into the kitchens and then to the larder where Eleanor's eyes fixed on the sight that had terrified her thoughts most.

"Bryce!"

Her husband looked up from where he lay on the ground, holding his side with bloody hands. She and Alice rushed over to the gravely wounded Teyrn, whose breaths came in ragged gasps. Eleanor couldn't help but notice the pool of blood spreading on the floor and Bryce's face felt cold and clammy. A lump grew in her throat and fear threatened to overcome her. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a trick of the Fade.

"Thank the Maker you are here. You have to go," he said weakly, straining with the effort of speaking. "There are horses outside, waiting for you. I had to make sure you were safe."

Eleanor placed her hands on Bryce's cheeks and she could no longer hold back the tears. "No, we can still make it. We can find the king and Howe will dance from the gallows. We have some potions. We can make it, Bryce."

The sudden sound of fighting in the kitchen caused her to turn, but then it became quiet again. The Cousland men parted and the Grey Warden, Duncan walked in. He too, was covered in gore, but it was not his own. Beyond him, Eleanor could see a half dozen of Howe's men, slain.

"I'm sorry I could not come sooner," Duncan said calmly as if this were all a minor inconvenience. "I was…detained," he said as he knelt near the Teyrn.

Bryce reached up and grasped the Grey Warden's hand, his eyes pleading. "Promise me, Duncan…promise me that you will lead my family to safety."

Duncan nodded solemnly. "I swear this. But, I must have something in return. As tragic as this is, this pales in comparison to the threat of the Darkspawn."

Bryce seemed to know what the man desired. "Yes…yes, I understand. Keep her safe, please, I beg you."

Eleanor's eyes widened, not wanting to understand. "Bryce, what is he asking for?"

Duncan turned to face the Teyrna. "In truth, milady, it was always your daughter that I hoped to recruit."

"No…no! We can all still escape. Bryce, you can't allow this."

Bryce grasped her hands in his own. "My dear Eleanor, it's done. You must survive. You must tell everyone of what happened here. Even if I escape alive, I will not survive the journey. Hurry, there is little time left." He looked back up at Duncan. "Duncan, take them. Keep my daughter safe."

Alice pounded her fists into the stone floor. "No! We will fight to the death! I will make Howe pay before he sends us to the Fade."

Bryce shook his head. He was as pale as a sheet of paper now. "You have to survive, Pup. You have to tell Fergus. It will be up to the two of you." He nodded to Duncan and the Warden took Alice by the arm. She tried to pull away, but Duncan's grip was firm.

Eleanor wiped away the tears from her cheek and strangely, a new sense of strength filled her body. A sense of resolution and clarity filled her mind. There were no other options in her life at this point. A grim smile formed on her lips. She pointed to the Cousland soldiers and servants. "Go with my daughter and continue the fight. You are to serve and protect her. This is my final command. Maker be with you all."

The small mob filed out behind Duncan through the hidden sally port as Alice shrieked her protests. Duncan turned back one last time and bowed to the Teyrna. If everything she had heard about the man and the Wardens' prowess were true, their daughter would be safe for the moment. That's all they would need was some time to escape…some time to find Fergus…some time to avenge the family honor. She watched Duncan's piercing eyes until he sealed the secret door and it faded into the wall, its seams vanishing. She sighed with relief.

With loving hands, Eleanor caressed Bryce's gray hair and the wrinkles along his face. "It will all be over soon, my love. We'll be together forever." Then, in her mind's eye, she saw the clock turn back and a youthful Bryce sat before her, his face beaming beneath silky black hair. This was her knight in shining armor, her champion, who brought her to live out a fairy tale life in his castle.

The Teyrn seemed to gain strength and sat up. "Help me up against the wall, love. Hand me my sword."

As she assisted him up, pounding on the larder door interrupted her thoughts. The time had come. _Please Maker, just one more minute. Just one more minute with my Bryce._ She placed his sword in his sticky hands and she picked up a bow that had been left behind. She knocked an arrow as an axe head splintered the wood of the door. The shaft leapt through the jagged opening and lodged into something fleshy. There was a scream. Angry shouts and more hacking at the door ensued and she fired several more arrows, thinning out the ranks of the enemy. But, mindless hate was a powerful thing and, though blood ran thick under the door, it soon shattered into shards.

With the last of his strength, Bryce staggered forward and lopped the head off of a spear, following with a thrust into the throat of the surprised Howe soldier. Eleanor launched another arrow, its bodkin tip making a nice hole in a man's breastplate as it sank into flesh. Bryce clove the arm of another man clean off, but the press of numbers was against them. Two men rushed at Eleanor while three tackled the Teyrn and pummeled him with fists.

"No!" she cried, but it was too late. The men seized her and slammed her into the floor, knocking her senseless. They rolled her over and bound her hands behind her as she thrashed about, kicking.

"Ah, how touching," a voice filled with sarcasm and venom called out.

"Howe, by the Maker, I'll see you dead," she screamed in frustration and anger. A gloved hand grasped a knot of her hair and she was yanked up to face the traitor himself. She winced, but refused to cry out. The Teyrna would not give him the satisfaction.

Howe soldiers fanned out and searched the room, but could find nothing. Inside, Eleanor smiled, but she would not give away her daughter's escape.

"Where's that lovely girl of yours, Eleanor?" Howe asked politely.

"Dead…your men killed her, you bastard."

He seemed to weigh her words carefully, stroking that annoying soul patch of his with his thumb. "We'll see. Men," he said to his troops, "Search the castle. See if that spitfire is still alive and, if so, bring her here."

There was no fear now in Eleanor's heart. She knew what had to be done. All she had to do was buy more time. Every second bought their daughter more distance from this accursed place. Some of the Howe troops rushed out of the room, but one held a dagger to Bryce's throat.

"My victory is _almost_ complete," Howe said as he released Eleanor's hair and she dropped to the ground. He paced about for a few seconds as if thinking. He then pointed to the soldier holding Bryce. "Make him watch," he added as he put his boot in front of her face. "Kiss it. Pay homage to the new Teyrn of Highever."

It seemed as if he expected her to protest, to lash out in impotent rage, but she had put all of that behind her now. She could imagine Duncan, her daughter, and the remnants of the Cousland house speeding away in the night, living to fight another day. She looked over to Bryce and smiled. On her knees, she bent over and kissed the bloody boot.

Howe chuckled dryly and walked over to Bryce, drawing his sword. Eleanor knew what was to come. He nodded to her and returned the smile.

"Bryce, save what dignity you have left and bare your neck willingly."

Eleanor closed her eyes when she saw the sword raised. "We'll be together soon," she whispered. She heard a _swishing_ sound and then something falling on the floor. She bit her lip hard until she could taste blood. Boots clicked on the ground, approaching until Howe knelt beside her. She felt the tip of his poignard on her neck, just under her jaw. The last thing she saw in her mind's eye was Bryce, in his dashing satin doublet, grinning broadly with his open hand extended to her. She took his hand and then all was filled with light.


	5. Escape

W/N - Merci for all of your input. I do appreciate it very much. I am trying to incorporate your comments. EE, ASOFI is George RR Martin's A Song of Fire and Ice, a dark, gritty medieval tale that I thought was very similar in scope to DA:O. Let's look at Duncan now and there's a nod to all of the other Origin stories. I'm trying to create a darker, balance tale with some very tragic elements. The draw cut that Miss Cousland uses is known as _gyakugesa_, an upward cut from the scabbard. The throw that Duncan uses is _koshinage_. Next stop, Loghain territory.

Other malarkey - I fought against a fellow twice my size and skewered him with a _tsuki_ (thrust) to the throat. _Shobu Ari! _(Victory) :D

**Miles Southwest of Highever Castle – Sometime Before Four Bells**

The adrenaline was still running high and the horses running fast as the ragged band of survivors raced away from Highever Castle. The chill night wind and steady rain whipped against Duncan's face and he could barely feel his ears and nose anymore, but he knew they couldn't stop. Under the cloudy, moonlit sky, he could see some of the some of the people faltering, slouching in their saddles, faces ashen and eyelids drooping.

"Faster! Ride as if the archdemon were on your tail! Ride, I tell you!"

He swatted the rump of his horse with a switch and the steady thrum of hoofbeats accelerated. Whether or not Arl Howe had found the secret exit, he would surely have scouting parties out by now, looking for any escapees. Other than he, Alice Cousland and her hound, the group was in no shape to fight.

This was not what he had expected from his visit to Highever. He thought that it would be a cordial visit and that he would leave with one, possibly two potential recruits for the Grey Wardens and an allied army at his back. Instead, he was now leading a hopeless gaggle of, what had once been the one of the most powerful families in Ferelden, second only to the king. After his previous five failures, he had been growing desperate. Hopefully, this one would survive the joining. Only two other recruits awaited in Ostagar, far from the twenty he had hoped for.

Another horse moved in next to his and he looked over to see Alice astride her mount, her face tensed and fixed as if carved of stone. She almost appeared as one of the fabled golems of Orzammar. _Some_ might think that they were just fables, but Duncan knew otherwise.

"Why are we going southwest?" she asked impatiently. "We must find my brother along the road southeast of Highever. He is less than a half day's march from the castle."

Duncan understood what she was feeling far better than she, herself did – doubt, anger, remorse and, above all, fear. Every battle that he had fought, every step along the Deep Roads that he had taken was full of these feelings. So many friends fallen…so many friends dragged away by the Darkspawn. He understood and so her ire washed off his back like the falling rain.

"Where do you think Arl Howe will be looking for us?" He said it without anger or irritation, free of any hint of rebuke. He always felt that the best answers were the ones we found for ourselves.

Alice opened her mouth to rebut him, but stopped and wiped the rain from her eyes. She merely nodded and then pushed her knee into her horse's flank to open the distance between them. To the untrained eye, she might appear spoiled and petulant, but he knew she was a diamond in the rough. Her skill and fighting spirit were the talk of tournaments in the north of Ferelden.

Months ago, a bard in Amaranthine told him about a contest in which a young woman had bested several hardened knights and he knew that he had to investigate further. Yes, thank the Maker, he had made the right choice and it was up to him to polish that diamond.

Miles turned into leagues as they rode on and soon, a dim sliver of light appeared in the east just above the horizon as the rain slowed to a light, cold drizzle. Duncan always loved this time of the morning when the smell in the air changed and the birds began to sing. It gave him a sense of clarity and renewal. He gently pulled on the reins and his horse slowed to a walk. They had sped far enough for now. The horses and riders would need a break. The rest of the group followed suit as he raised himself up in the stirrups and scanned behind them.

"I see no pursuit thus far," he said to Alice. "We can rest the horses for an hour or two. We can then work our way eastward through the Bannorn and link up with Fergus."

As the dull, orange glow of dawn grew, he could faintly see pillars of smoke where Highever was supposed to be. He sighed. They were lucky to have escaped. Alice moved her horse closer again, the distinctive _clip-clop clip-clop_ sound of horseshoes on hard ground filling the air.

"Why did you choose me, Duncan? I want to know."

He sat back down in the saddle and nodded, pursing his lips. "I was told of your skill months ago. I have travelled Ferelden, looking for the best and brightest of the land to join our order."

"Ser Gilmore spoke very highly of you and the Grey Wardens," she said. "It was his life's desire to join you."

"Ser Gilmore was a fine knight. He would have made an excellent Warden."

"He would have…." Her voice cracked and she caught herself, swallowed hard and then began speaking again. "So, why me? You could have saved Gilmore."

"I encountered him in the throne room as they held the door against Howe's men. I offered to take him with us to join the Wardens, but he refused. He said that he needed to buy you time and that you _will_ make a fine a Warden."

He watched Alice dig her fingers into the pommel of her saddle until her hands were white, but her expression never changed. "I see." And he saw it too – guilt was written on her strained hands.

"In any case, I went to Highever and saw one of your tournaments. It wasn't so much that you were victorious, but that you were smart and resourceful. You outthought many of your opponents. I recall one knight that you fought swinging at empty space over and over again because you were two steps ahead of him. That's what I need to fight the Darkspawn."

"I appreciate the flattery, but surely, there must be others? Are we to go to Ostagar, just one Warden and a recruit?"

Unpleasant memories flashed in Duncan's head. He wasn't immune to guilt either. "There…_were_ others. I went to the Brecilian Forests, the Circle Tower, Denerim, and finally Orzammar before returning to Highever."

She seemed interested, perking up a bit. "Who did you find? What happened?"

"I first recruited a Dalish Elf-"

"Dalish?" she interjected, before she caught herself for interrupting. "I'm sorry, please continue, Duncan."

Duncan had long since gotten past the feeling of being kicked in the gut over the fallen, but he still remembered most of them and tried, in some way, to honor them. Perhaps telling a little of their story would help to lighten the burden all of those lost souls had on his own. "His name was Theron Mahariel. He was a fiery one, like all of the others, part of a clan of wandering elves. I recruited him while he was looking for a mirror, an ancient elven artifact, that was making members of his clan ill."

"What is he like? Where is he now?

"He had dark hair, much like your own and he had intricate tattoos coving all of his face. He was utterly dedicated to the welfare of his clan…lighting fast with his bow and fleet of foot."

Alice narrowed her eyes as if reading something into his words. "_Had…was_? I'm getting the feeling that he is no longer with us."

Duncan nodded plainly. "He became ill. The healers tried everything, but to no avail. Then, there was a mage named Solona Arnell. She completed her Harrowing with astonishing skill, but then she became careless."

"I've only read about the Harrowing in my studies. Isn't that the initiation for a mage into the Circle?"

"Indeed it is. She emerged from the Fade after the Harrowing, not even having broken into perspiration. I thought she would be an excellent addition, but a friend of hers convinced her to take rash action."

"What happened to her?"

Duncan pursed his lips. He could see another face that would someday fade in clarity, but not entirely from memory. Her hair was platinum blonde and her eyes, crystal blue. "She assisted an apostate in escaping from the Circle. The Templars beheaded her before I could intervene and invoke the Right of Conscription."

Alice frowned. "I'm sensing a pattern here."

He sighed. "As you can see, you are the only one with me now. I recruited a City Elf in the Denerim Alienage. Her name was Kallian Tabris. Her mother was a friend of mine long ago. Kallian and a number of other elves were about to be married, but Bann Vaughn, the son of the Arl of Denerim took her and the other brides for the Right of First Night with them."

"That's barbaric!" she said, her ire rising. "My father respects the elves on our staff," she added, but then thought about what she had said. "I mean…my father respected them. Many had valued positions within the castle."

"I could see that when I was there. After Vaughn defiled them, Kallian led an escape from the Arl's estate. With only a sword and her torn wedding dress, she fought her way out of the dungeon."

"So, she survived?" Alice asked hopefully.

Duncan shook his head. "No, she was hanged. Again, I was too late." For a moment, there was a lump in his throat and he swallowed it down hard. The last few weeks had been increasingly difficult on him. There were just too many personal failures that were adding up. A lot of ghostly faces danced in his dreams. He often saw Kallian in his sleep, dangling from the gallows, her neck stretched beyond all ability to survive. The Grey Warden was tiring of this line of conversation and said only a few more words on his other recruits. "There was also a casteless dwarf named Faren Brosca who died in the dungeons for daring to enter a contest reserved for nobles. Lastly, there was Duran Aeducan, the favorite son of the King of Orzammar, who perished in the Deep Roads, a victim of his brother's treachery. There are two recruits waiting in Ostagar, but from this trip, you, Alice, are the last."

It looked like she did not like the sound of that and she looked away. "Not a very successful trip, was it?"

"On the contrary, it was."

She turned back sharply and shot him a questioning glare. "What do you mean? Five other recruits are dead, horribly slain. And, who am I? Nothing but the ragged survivor of a ruined family."

"You are the daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland and the pupil of sword master Aedan. You will be an excellent addition to the Grey Wardens, I am sure."

Alice did not appear to share his sentiment and they rode in silence for the rest of the day.

As the sun began to set in the west, Duncan scanned the horizon and could see no one – it seemed as though his diversion to the southwest had evaded any pursuit for the moment. He could see that many of the stragglers were reaching the end of their stamina and even the horses might soon begin to trip and break a leg. A nearby copse of trees might offer a secure shelter for the night.

"Alice, we should set up camp over there. Direct your people to set up defensive positions."

"We must continue and find Fergus," she protested initially, but then looked back to her ragged force and sighed. "You're right. We can go no further." Then, she rose up in her saddle. "We will make camp over there!" she shouted, pointing her hand towards the trees. Dig pits and set up traps around the perimeter. We'll rest in shifts."

Knights, men-at-arms and servants dismounted with groans, some of them falling flat on the ground in exhaustion. Alice moved among them, helping them to their feet and then grabbed a shovel from one of the horses and began digging. Duncan rose back up in his stirrups and squinted his eyes as he peered to the east, looking for any sign of an army on the march. His eyesight may have gone a little blurry in the last few years, but he was still nearly as keen as an eagle. He sighed when he saw no sign of any force, only a smattering of cottages in a far off village. He swung his right leg over the cantle of the saddle and plopped onto the soft grass of the ground. For a second, he gritted his teeth as feeling spread back into his legs. He hated to admit it, but he was getting old. The Taint would overtake his body in a year, maybe two. Dementia and madness would follow if he allowed it, but, before then, he would travel to the Deep Roads, fight the Darkspawn, and die like a Grey Warden should.

"On my feet…it being my choice," he whispered.

He looked over to see a servant, who was striking some matches over a pile of wood and leaves. "I know it's cold, but no fires tonight. The smoke would surely draw attention."

The young elven man nodded and put the matches back in his pocket. Around the camp there was a bustle of activity. Despite their fatigue, people were sharpening stakes and setting traps as others fed horses and undid saddles. When the bustle of activity began to slow, Alice organized a night watch and a number of the group clustered around a tree to find relief from the frigid drizzle and lay down. Then, she marched right up to Duncan.

"You want me to be a Grey Warden…teach me," she said, putting the fingers of her right hand lightly on the grip of her sword. "Show me how to fight."

He'd seen amateurs duel, but the way in which she stood and touched her weapon told him that she wasn't an amateur. "We should rest, Alice. You'll need your strength for when we arrive at Ostagar."

Droplets of water trickled down her face and around the determined eyes that told Duncan that she wasn't going away. "Why wait, Duncan?" she asked. "The sooner we destroy the Darkspawn, the sooner I will put Rendon Howe's head on a pike," she said, her lip curling up in an expression of hatred. "And only your training me will make that happen. If you want me to fight your Darkspawn, teach me. Draw your weapon, ser."

He pursed his lips and nodded. There was no use in arguing. He slowly shuffled to the left as he drew both his sword and a parrying dagger in one, clean motion. Showing his main hand to her, he rotated the grip so that the flat of the blade faced her, letting her know that this was only a sparring match. She gave him a single nod of her head.

Duncan put the tips of his weapons together, taking a defensive stance, ready to parry any sudden attack. He advanced a quick step to provoke a reaction, but she didn't move and still hadn't drawn her weapon. This was the style that Master Aedan had taught her – he'd heard of it, but had never seen it for himself. Normally, he would try and push her sword away with his dagger and then strike, but she gave him nothing to work with.

He pushed the tip of his sword out in a feint and she slid to the side. Now, she was within range and he lunged in with a dagger strike, meaning to tap her on the head. Out came her sword, an arcing flash of silverite, cutting up at his underarm. He then realized that she had drawn him into a trap and he barely brought his sword down to deflect the attack away. As sword met sword, they clashed together, face to face and Alice twisted her weapon, using the quillons to hook Duncan's blade. With a flick of her wrists, his sword flew from his grasp and she raised her weapon for the coup de grace.

Without thinking, Duncan slid under the cut and grasped her arm, hurling her over his shoulder. Alice crashed on the ground and he was on her in the blink of an eye. With one knee, he pinned an arm to the ground, but she swept her free hand to a small scabbard and a dagger was in her grip so quickly it was as if it had appeared from nowhere. She thrust up at his face, but he caught her hand and forced it down, pinning the other arm with another knee.

She bucked her hips up and nearly knocked him forward, but he used his weight to force her back down. She snarled like her Mabari Hound, straining against his legs, but it was over. Even Cyrano leapt up, barking at Duncan, but Alice looked over to the dog. "No, boy. He's a friend. Sit."

Duncan relaxed and looked down at the young woman, her eyes still defiant. Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine and he thought he saw Theron and Solona, Kallian and Faren, and even Duran, their cloudy dead eyes staring up at him, accusing. He gasped and his vision returned to see his recruit looking up at him, but now, her expression had softened. How many had he led to their deaths? He was tired, so tired, but now, his greatest challenge still lay ahead. If he could just temper this girl's obsession with vengeance, perhaps there might be hope.

He stepped off of her and extended a hand. "Rest now, Alice. I will show you more on the morrow."


	6. Gambit

W/N - Many, many thanks, Ronin, Roxfox and Eternal E. Let's look at Loghain now and hopefully get a sense of his complexity, passion and fatal flaws. Being a medieval tale, heraldry plays a big part in the story. In the vein of the Wars of the Roses, I hope to show politics at their vicious best. I'm debating on an Alistair or Cailan chapter next.

Other malarkey - I dueled sensei to a draw, 2-2, managing to parry all but one of his unbeatable kote or wrist cuts. I scored my own kote hit and one nuki men (jump back, make your opponent miss, jump back in and deliver a head cut). There is a relatively new guy, who came from MMA and is good. He parried my kaeshi do (parry and flank cut) and almost got me, but I dodged aside. He said my eyes got real big when he parried the cut. I recall thinking wtf, where'd learn to do that?

Please enjoy and hope you are having a happy holiday season.

**Ostagar – Three Days after the Fall of Highever**

The flap of his tent opened with a rustling sound and Ser Cauthrien, the captain of his personal guard, entered. "My lord, a messenger has arrived for you," she said, her breath steaming in the cold morning air. This day was particularly chilly and she had donned a fur-lined cape over her green and white surcoat, emblazoned with the livery of the Teyrnir of Gwaren, a golden wyvern rampant.

Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir looked up from the maps and communiqués that were strewn about his table. "Send him in. I've been expecting this."

Cauthrien crossed her arms in front of her chest and bowed. "As you wish, my lord." The captain held the tent flap open for a hooded messenger, who sauntered in on high leather boots and presented the Teyrn with a rolled note that bore the wax seal of Arl Rendon Howe, a brown bear passant.

Loghain took the scroll with some trepidation. "This was not an easy decision for me, you know," he said in his booming voice, his near confession trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He'd been telling himself that since he rode with King Cailan from Denerim two weeks ago.

The messenger nodded. "As you say, my lord. I am merely the messenger."

With a grunt, Loghain looked at the seal, admiring the smooth impression of the Arl's signet ring on the wax around the fine detail of the bear. Since he was a peasant boy, fighting for King Maric, he had a love…almost an obsession with things of the nobility – signet rings, heraldry, duels, castles…and power. He broke the seal and unrolled the letter.

_It is done. I expect you to uphold your part of the bargain. The eldest is heading your way. I recommend that you deal with him before he learns of the deed._

_R.H._

Short, simple, to the point, just like the Arl he had come to know. He read it again just to make sure of what it said and then he crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it onto the coals of the smoldering brazier near his desk, one that had his coat of arms emblazoned on it. He needed to show the other nobles as often as he could that he too, was one of them now. Ancient families like the Couslands and the Howes may have had their lineage, but he wielded true power. It was something that he hammered into his daughter, Anora from the time when she was a girl. And, truth be told, she had become a fine queen through those lessons. If only they had been able to sway the king, things would be different today.

He looked back up to the messenger and slapped a handful of silver sovereigns on the desk. "Tell your master that I will meet him in Denerim and I will accept his oaths of fealty and bestow upon him the titles that he requested. He will be the new Teyrn of Highever."

The hooded man scooped up the coins and bowed. "That is all my master ever wanted, the recognition that he richly deserved."

"He is a very deserving man. Good day to you, ser," Loghain said with definitive finality and the man walked backwards several paces before turning to leave. Cauthrien let the tent flap fall after the messenger crossed the threshold.

"What was the message, my lord?" she asked. As the commander of Maric's Shield, Loghain's elite troops, she was generally privy to his innermost thoughts and plans. He had never lied to her before and there had never been a reason to do so until now.

"Teyrn Cousland will be delayed arriving on the field. There may be some issues with him that Arl Howe is having to deal with. The Teyrn's son will be arriving shortly, however, with the vanguard."

"Teyrn Cousland? He has always been an honorable man. What is the problem, my lord?" Her question was rather pointed, but he was used to this from her. The former peasant girl had never held back with him and the delicate manners of many aristocrats were alien to her even after all of these years.

Loghain felt a hot flushing sensation through his face and cleared his throat. He glanced away, unable to look at her. "We suspect that the Couslands may have designs of their own that do not support the king. We should be wary when Fergus arrives." She couldn't know the truth yet. He didn't think he could bear to look into her eyes and see disappointment. He bit his lower lip and then looked back at his faithful knight.

Cauthrien paused for a moment, studying his face and her brows furrowed. "I…yes, my lord."

He knew that she saw something in his expression. Since she had saved his life twelve years ago, she had become his most trusted commander, confidant and, since his wife passed, something much more. From peasant girl, she had grown into a fine knight and leader. They understood each other, each being a commoner in a world of aristocrats. She understood that, despite his being the "Hero of Ferelden," sometimes he felt the fraud, a peasant boy dressed up in fine satin with an empty suit of armor. Cauthrien knew that his booming voice covered up that hidden shame.

He forced a smile. "Good, let me know when Fergus Cousland arrives. I need to see him right away."

Cauthrien put her gloved hand over his and returned the smile, her strong features gentled by her love. He could see the trust in her eyes again and it gave him the strength to continue. "I'll see to it, my lord." She walked backwards a step before turning to go. She slid the tent flap closed behind her and he could hear her footsteps receding on the grass outside.

Loghain breathed out a heavy sigh. He despised himself for deceiving his dear Cauthrien. This course of action could all still change in a heartbeat if Cailan would veer away from the cliff he had made for himself. He and King Maric, Maker rest his soul, did not throw the Orlesians out of their homeland with blood and steel only to have them waltz back in with a stroke of pen on parchment. He looked down at a copy of the scroll made by one of his agents. The original document was penned by Cailan himself, a request for an alliance…an _alliance_ with the Orlesian Empress to fight the Darkspawn together. Maric would roll in his grave. Loghain felt that hot flush return to his face, but this was the rush of rage. How many families were butchered by the Orlesian chevaliers? How many villages burned? How many loyal Ferelden sons were hanged? How many daughters raped? Thirty years had done nothing to cool the fire of his hatred. He would sacrifice anything, perhaps even his beloved Anora to save Ferelden from this madness.

If only Cailan would listen, Cauthrien and Anora would never need to know. Then, Rendon Howe's _evidence_ against Bryce Cousland would be presented in court and the Couslands would be branded as traitors to the Crown. Howe would still get the titles that he craved and things would go back to the way they were. Ferelden would be saved.

From the map of the kingdom on his desk he picked up the tiny lead figure of a knight that represented Teyrn Cousland and his army. "I'm sorry, dear friend," he said to it as if it were Bryce himself. "It needed to be done for the good of Ferelden. Remember White River? You, me, Rendon, Leonas Bryland…we barely escaped with our lives. The Orlesians pursued us for leagues, hanging any that they caught like common criminals. You remember the barn in which the villagers hid us? De Poche…yes, that was the name of the place. You remember the smell of burning wood and flesh as the chevaliers put the village to the sword and torch as we hid in the river? _I'll_ never forget it, Bryce. How could you have supported Cailan in bringing the Orlesians back? I'm sorry, Bryce. I hope Eleanor can forgive me from beyond the Fade. I love Ferelden more than life itself and I _cannot_ allow this to happen."

He tossed the figure down on the map, knocking several others over. His mood was sour now. Since Maric had first knighted him and then invested him as the Teyrn of Gwaren, he had conducted himself with nothing but honor. Maric's ideals of a united, powerful, benevolent Ferelden lay deep in Loghain's heart. If ten-thousand needed to burn at the stake to keep that Ferelden intact then so be it. Bryce, Eleanor and young Alice's heads on pikes outside the gates of Highever was small price to pay. He looked down at another figure of a Cousland knight on the road to Ostagar. There was one more loose end to tie up.

An idea struck him and he studied the disposition of the Darkspawn forces once again. Thank the Maker this was not a true Blight. If it were, even he might consider his actions insane. No one fights over a burning house. _Thank the Maker this is not a true Blight_, he told himself again. He put the thought aside and found what he had been looking for. He quickly rearranged the figures representing the disposition of the Darkspawn army.

"Fergus Cousland, you're good with sword and lance, but you were ever a simple one. It is fortunate that you, and not your sister, survived."

As if on cue, there was a rap on the tent canvas. "My lord," announced Cauthrien, "Fergus Cousland is here to see you."

Loghain closed his eyes for just a moment. It was becoming easier with every step. "Please, send him in."

The broad-shouldered young man strode in, his friendly face beaming. He removed a fur-lined cloak, revealing a gold and crimson surcoat with the upturned laurel wreath of the Couslands. "Teryn Loghain, it is good to see you again. My father sends his greetings. He should be a day or two's march behind me."

"It is good to see you too, Fergus. It will be good to fight alongside your father once more," Loghain said. He tried to extend his hand, but his body rebelled against him and he merely made a curt bow. "Have a seat, Fergus. We have much to discuss."

The young man pulled up a stool at the desk as Loghain sat down. "Should we wait for my father? He has overall command of the army."

The Teyrn shook his head. "No, there is no time. I am privy to the king's plans and he needs an immediate assault on the Darkspawn flank, here," he said, pointing to an area on the edge of the Korcari Wilds. "We need to blunt the gathering of their hordes at this weak spot in their defenses. I know you have marched a long way, but this is your chance for glory son. Cailan is entrusting you with the attack."

Fergus shot back a grin that had always made him a favorite of the ladies at tournaments. He took a look at the map and the gap in the Darkspawn forces. "I'm honored, my lord. Allow me a couple of hours to feed my men and water my horses and we will march. I will not let the king down."

"Good man," Loghain said and slapped him on the shoulder. "I will personally inform the king of your bravery. Your father will be proud."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Still grinning from ear to ear, Fergus left, a bounce in his step. Loghain nodded. Indeed, it was like playing the game of chess that he loved so much – sacrifice the castle, sacrifice the knight, perhaps even sacrifice the queen and the king would be yours.

One final gambit needed to be played this day before he could rest. "Ser Cauthrien, please escort me to see the king," he called to her through the flap.

"Yes, my lord."

They walked over to a grand tent, gaily colored and adorned with the images of the dragons and griffons that Cailan practically idolized with childlike devotion. He had tried, tried so very hard to get the boy-king to grow up, to realize the dark realities of a harsh world. Unfortunately, Cailan would have none of it, clinging to his minstrel's songs of martial glory and his books about mythical creatures and long forgotten battles and knightly orders. It was he and Anora that really ran the kingdom. If only they had been born with the blood to have made it official.

Loghain strode into the tent as if he owned it and saw courtiers braiding Cailan's blond hair as an artist painted a portrait of the king besides the royal heraldry, two opposing wolves rampant on a quartered field of gold and silver beneath the three pointed label of an eldest child. Loghain always took note of such details. Nearby, a harpist plucked a familiar Ferelden tune, accompanied by a lute. "Your majesty, your scouts have provided me with a report that the Darkspawn are on the move to the southeast. There appears to be an opportune moment to strike them on the march and cripple them before the main battle."

The king held up his hand, stopping the courtiers and the musicians. "Excellent, Loghain. Is Maric's Shield up to the task?" he asked in his lilting aristocratic voice.

"My elite force should be held in reserve, your majesty. It is fortuitous however, that the Cousland army has just arrived. They are chomping at the bit to get into the fight."

"Magnificent. Teyrn Cousland always has fighting spirit. Should I see him before they set out?"

"Not necessary, my king. Time is of the essence or the window to strike the Darkspawn may close. If you would just sign the appropriate orders, I'll see to it personally that they are delivered to the Couslands."

"Very good, Loghain. I know we disagree on the Orlesian matter, but we must end the Blight here in one, glorious battle. The Empress has promised me her help." Cailan was at the precipice now.

"Will you not reconsider, your majesty? We can handle this on our own."

"We have discussed this a thousand times. I cannot refuse help while our lands are overrun. The Orlesians have given me guarantees of good faith."

"Good faith? From the Orlesians? Pah! When our towns are burning and chevaliers are looting our-"

Cailan quickly signed a parchment, ignoring the Teyrn. "Enough, Loghain. Here are the orders. See to it that they are delivered. When the Orlesians and the new Grey Wardens arrive, we will be do battle."

"Yes…your majesty."

The king was exposed. It would be checkmate in two moves. They were over the cliff now. It was amazing how fast one could fall to their doom.


	7. Want

W/N - Many thanks for the input! :D Good feedback is like a master lyrium draught for a mage. I was on the fence about Cauthrien and Loghain's relationship, but I thought about how they had been so close for so long and I wanted to take it down an interesting road at the Landsmeet. Let's take a look at Alistair, a poor nervous nelly before the great crusade. The battle that he describes is based on Stirling Bridge, where William Wallace defeated the English. I didn't mention this in the chapter, but the remnants of the Cousland House are left in the Bannorn for now and will reappear in camp. I kind of like the non PC POV where you can explore more of the characters.

Other malarkey - Grueling Iaido practice in which we did 46 of the waza (sets of drawing the sword, cutting and resheathing). I always love the whirling form of Ukigumo and Takiotoshi where you defend against someone trying to disarm you and you deliver various cuts and thrusts. I squeaked out a victory against sensei, 4-3! About a second before the buzzer, at 3-3, he launched a wrist cut from hidari jodan (sword over your head in an aggressive posture). I parried it by deflecting it to my right and caught him with a head cut. _Shobu ari! _On YouTube, look up Chiba Sensei to see the powerful hidari jodan stance.

Please enjoy and thank you again.

**Ostagar – Four Days After the Fall of Highever**

From the top of the Tower of Ishal, the former Templar peered down the Imperial Highway, looking for any sign of travelers. Small groups of knights and men-at-arms from the various Banns, that supported the king, straggled in to bolster the Royal Army, but there was no sign of Duncan and the new recruits. They were close to being overdue and Alistair was beginning to worry…nay, fret over the idea that his mentor into the Grey Wardens might not return.

"Maker'sbreathMaker'sbreathMaker'sbreath," he said in one, rapid fire word. "How would I ever carry on without Duncan? What would I do?" He rubbed his hands together against the cold and put them on his cheeks for warmth. How in Thedas could he lead even part of the Wardens in the coming battle? His two charges thus far practically put him to shame in their wealth of experience – Ser Jory was a champion knight and Daveth was a near legendary scout and cutpurse from Denerim. Alistair raised himself up on his tip toes and saw a faint cloud of dust on the horizon.

"Please be Duncan, please be Duncan." It was times like this where he dearly wanted to make a stupid joke to someone, _anyone_. Alistair did not like being alone in his own thoughts. It made him…think.

"So, what do you think?" a voice called out from right besides him, nearly making him jump out of his armor and over the battlements. It was that sneak, Daveth. "Is it the old guy or not? He'd better hurry up, I'm really getting bored here…all this waiting around for the Darkspawn rot."

Alistair snorted, a little peeved at the surprise visit at first, but he was glad for another person nearby and Daveth was quite a talker. "I think we should send the Darkspawn a nasty letter, chastising them for tardiness. Knight Commander Greagoir has just the right 'look down my nose at you' way of writing that will surely get the Archdemon riled up."

Daveth let out a snorting chuckle. "You're a funny one, you are, Alistair. How in Denerim's festering alleys did you get hooked up with the likes of Duncan? No sense of humor, that one."

An image flashed in Alistair's mind, one of Duncan in tears, holding his belly and guffawing for all he was worth. It was a good memory, one that he would always carry in his heart. "No, he's got a sense of humor, trust me. He just doesn't show it much."

"I'll have to trust you on that one. So, what do you think, Al, we gonna win this one or what?"

Alistair wasn't sure if he liked the shortening of his name or not. The scout had this casual, back alley manner to him, rough and ready. Duncan told him that he caught Daveth trying to cut his purse and thus recruited the streetwise thief. _He was almost as good as me_, Alistair remembered Duncan saying, _almost_.

"I think that, between you and I, we're going to talk the Darkspawn to death. They'll be staggering around, holding their ears. 'Stop, please stop, you two! We'll go back to the Deep Roads!' Then, they'll tell the Archdemon not to even think of messing with us."

Daveth slapped his thigh. "Bwah! Now I know why I like hanging out with you, Al. If only we could get a pint of ale and a comely wench we'd be in hog heaven."

"I'd settle for a comely hog."

"Bwaha! Oh, Maker, we're all going to make a great team. If I could just get that stiff ass, Jory, to loosen up," Daveth said. Then, he made a mock serious face, pouting his lips. "I was the Champion of Highever and the melee winner of Redcliffe," he added, imitating Ser Jory in singsong fashion. "I've got a sword up my ass so far it's sticking out of my mouth."

"Awww, Ser Jory is a good guy."

The thief shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. I just love giving him manure. So, what do you think about Loghain? We can't lose with that guy leading the fight, huh? War hero and all that rot."

"Oh, Loghain is definitely the man we want on our side. You ever heard of the Battle of River Dane?"

"River Dane? Naw, we don't hear too much about glorious stuffs in the back alleys of Denerim."

Alistair had to smile at Daveth's rough, streetwise speech and manner. It had an endearing quality to it. "River Dane," he said dramatically, beginning the tale. He had read this story many times and loved telling it. "Loghain was the commander of King Maric's armies by the end of the Orlesian occupation and they had the chevaliers on the run. But, the Governor-General of the Orlesian force in Ferelden, one, Lord Severen, procured thousands of replacements from Val Royeaux. With his army renewed, Severen pushed back into Ferelden, driving towards Redcliffe. King Maric called an emergency war council and Loghain, Bryce Cousland, Rendon Howe, Leonas Bryland, and the other leaders of the rebellion came up with a master plan."

"Wh…what happened then?"

If there was one thing that the young Warden loved, it was sharing stories. In another life he might have been a minstrel, doing puppet shows for the children. Ah, if only he had his puppets with him now. _Uh, maybe not. I don't think Daveth would appreciate puppets._

"Well, Loghain devised the strategy to win the war, once and for all. Teyrn Cousland would lure the Orlesians to the River Dane and Loghain would trap them. At the river, the Couslands retreated across the narrow bridge and appeared to be in disarray. Sensing victory, Severen sent the chevaliers across the bridge and began deploying into lines of battle, confident that he would end the rebellion then and there. It was then that the Couslands turned, backed by Loghain and King Maric. Arrows flew, thick and heavy, into the Orlesian ranks. Loghain's elite pikemen then charged in, hurling the chevaliers back into their own men, who were still trying to cross the bridge."

"Maker's teeth, that sounds good."

"The archers from the Waking Sea rained fire down on the bridge. Chevaliers and their horses plunged into the river as confusion tore their ranks. The Howe's had already crossed the river and then struck Severen's army from behind. The battle turned into a rout and then into a massacre. With a lance, Loghain unhorsed Severen and they fought on the banks of the river where he smote the Governor-General and drowned the chevalier in the mud. The Orlesians surrendered and Ferelden was soon free. Loghain wears the Orlesian's armor to this day as a symbol of Ferelden spirit and independence."

"Well, I'll be a randy billygoat, that's a great story, Al! Hey, look there," Daveth said, pointing up the Imperial Highway, "it is Duncan."

Alistair practically leapt out of his armor. "Well, what do you know, you're right. Hey wait…there's only one person with him. He said he had almost twenty hopefuls."

"Twenty? Well, Al, I don't know about you, but one girl, who looks like she's had the manure kicked out of her, don't equal twenty. I don't know my letters too well, mind you, but…."

The gate was opening up and Alistair peered down to see Duncan, stone faced, astride his horse. He knew the man well enough to see disappointment. This recruitment trip did not go well. Next to him rode a ragged, filthy looking girl with matted, tangled black hair along with a mangy Mabari hound in tow. It was a pathetic sight. What was Duncan possibly thinking? What happened to the other possible recruits? "C'mon, Daveth, let's find out what happened."

The two tore down the steps of the tower to the ground and raced to the front gate. As they approached, he could see Duncan, on foot, talking to the girl and then pointing her to the Warden's tent where she could bathe and find refreshment.

"Where'd Duncan find the likes of her?" Daveth asked. "She needs a bath by the looks of it. I wouldn't pay two coppers for her at the Pearl."

Alistair watched, noting that her face was entirely expressionless and her eyes looked like those of a corpse. She nodded stiffly at Duncan's words and then walked towards the tent as Duncan took the hound to the kennels, likely for a bath of his own. The Ash Warriors would take good care of the mutt. "Hey, maybe we should introduce ourselves? Looks like she could use a friend." Curiosity also gripped him. Why was she the only one? Was she the only one _left_?

They took a few steps, trying to catch her at the tent entrance, but she went around to the side and squatted down. He was about to call out to her, but she put her face down into her dirty hands and began shaking uncontrollably. A river of water seeped down through her fingers as she rocked back and forth like a child. Alistair couldn't bear to watch for another second. It was like someone had reached down through his throat and tore his guts out. "C'mon, Daveth, let's go. I need to talk to Duncan," he said, his earlier mirth freezing in the cold air.

Daveth snorted, but followed him. "What the dickens happened out there? How are we Wardens going to fight the Darkspawn now?"

Alistair had a snappy comeback, but it refused to leave his mouth. "Duncan will know what to do," was what he managed to say. "Duncan will make it right." Oh, Maker, he wanted to do something for that wretched girl. He wanted to tell Daveth about the Joining. He wanted all of this to be over. But, he realized, as the hidden bastard son of King Maric, what he wanted never seemed to matter.


	8. Glory

W/N - Man many thanks again for all of your support Roxfox, Ronin and hubs. :D Welcome Thug! It's always good to see you. EE, I really enjoy exploring the genre with you. Let's take a look at King Cailan, a man who means well and aspires to rise from out of the shadow of his father, but falls a little short. I hope to bring out the desperation that he feels in 'proving himself' and some of the oddities that I thought might plague him. I'm giving a cameo to someone from one of the DLCs and am thinking about using this character's POV next.

Other malarkey - I'm a little under the weather, but still kicking. I battled sensei to a 3-3 draw. We allow limited grappling and he tried to throw me with a _kokyunage _throw, putting the leg behind that of the opponent and using your upper body to fling the opponent over your thigh. I went over, but rolled out and put my shinai up just in time to parry. I beat the Big Dog with a stick too :P, defeating him 4-0 to include a disarm in which I took the sword right out of his hands.

**Glory**

**Ostagar – Four Days After the Fall of Highever**

_Your Majesty, Your Highness, King_, it still sounded strange to him as if he had just eaten some foreign food with an exotic taste that he wasn't quite sure if he liked or not. King Cailan looked at himself in the mirror and wondered who he really was. Five years had passed since his legendary father, King Maric Theirin died at sea and Cailan was given the Crown of Ferelden. On the day in which he knelt before the Revered Mother and she placed the jeweled circlet on his brow, it felt entirely too large for his head and it seemed to grow larger with each passing year.

"Thank Blessed Andraste for Anora," he sighed as minstrels played a heroic piece about the elven Grey Warden, Garehel, slaying the Archdemon Andoral. "I'd never be able to keep those tedious kingdom details straight, if not for her."

"Of course, Your Majesty," one valet said to him, properly submissive.

Cailan waved his hands about. "Things like trade agreements, castle maintenance and the budget, oh Maker, the budget! It's all so…budgetary," he said in frustration.

"Very budgetary, Your Highness, very budgetary."

"Anora handles all of those things, you see. I would be lost without her, you know. I do so adore her." The king truly did. "She's strong and smart and knows how to handle these things. I cannot wait to return to her, triumphant." He wanted nothing more than to ride through the gates of the palace at the head of a victorious army and to lay the horns of the Archdemon at her feet. He would stand in the shadow of his father's statue and proclaim to the people of Ferelden that they were saved. Maybe then, that shadow might not seem so long. Maybe then, Teyrn Loghain would look at him with respect, the same respect that he showed Maric. Cailan had dreamed of such a moment for so long that he could taste it now, joining the pantheon of heroes and standing in their ranks without shame.

He looked at the completed portrait of himself, superimposed over the Theirin heraldry. Until now, how could that painting possibly hang next to Maric's? Until now, Cailan had been called the 'boy-king' or the knight-errant, tilting at windmills. He'd heard some of the talk about how he worshipped the faded glory of the Grey Wardens and tales of forgotten and meaningless adventures. But now, he could emerge a true leader, a savior of Ferelden as his father was called.

"I will be proud to hang this painting next to my father's when we return and I will deserve to be called 'son' by Loghain."

He had tried everything he could think of to win the man's respect and to emerge from the shadow of King Maric. His father was bold, loud and brash, never afraid to stand up and yell. Cailan sought to emulate that, but it was not in his character and it often came off as callow and only seemed to result in shouting matches between he and Loghain.

"Loghain will see that I am right about this; this is a Blight. However, we will defeat the Darkspawn together and he will see me as worthy of being Maric's heir."

"You will succeed, My King."

Sometimes, Cailan was annoyed by the cloying sycophants that seemed to gather around him all of the time, but their flattery did make him feel better. Was this something that came with power? As much as he hated Loghain's contrariness, he respected the man for 'telling it to him straight,' as he would say. That was a rare thing in the Palace of Denerim.

"Hmmm, thank you. Say," he then said to the minstrels, "play me the one about the griffons, you know the tune, right?"

"Of course, Your Majesty, it's one of your favorites."

The harpist plucked out the first few resonant notes before Ser Elric Maraigne, one of his personal guard, opened the flap of the royal tent. "Your Highness, Duncan has returned."

Cailan bolted up, his heart flushed with excitement. "Duncan? Most excellent! Does he have the new recruits with him? I must go and see him right away."

"Ummm, he has _a_ recruit with him. I am not aware of any others."

"Oh, hmmmm, that must be a mistake. I did meet two others a week ago, Jerry and Dave. They seemed an odd pair," he said as he held his arm out so that a valet could put his sable cloak over his shoulders. He strapped on his father's magnificent bastard sword, a hand and a half weapon that could be used one or two handed. This was the weapon that helped carry the day at River Dane and soon, Cailan would earn the right to wear it proudly. He strutted out of the tent, followed by a small entourage, and made his way to the campsite of the Grey Wardens. There may have been only two dozen of these legendary warriors in Ferelden, but each, he had read in the heroic tales, was worth a thousand men.

He saw Duncan standing in front of a large fire, warming his hands as a rather bawdy tune was being sung by a man with an Antivan accent in front of a small crowd of Wardens.

"With glossy lips and bodice ripped, she flung me on the bed…. Oh, Andraste's knickerweasels, Your Highness!"

Cailan chuckled nervously as the Wardens all stood up and bowed. He wasn't quite sure how to handle the rough manners of some of them and he certainly knew that each of them was a fighter, far beyond his talents. Soon, he would earn their respect too. They would fight, side by side, like the heroic tales portrayed.

"Ho, Duncan, I heard you returned from the recruitment journey. I was beginning to think that you might miss all of the fun."

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty." He seemed subdued, quiet.

Cailan knew that this was the time to bolster everyone's spirits. Maric would have done that. "Then I'll have the mighty Duncan by my side in battle after all. It will be glorious!" he proclaimed, seeing images of Darkspawn fleeing and being hacked down and he, holding his sword up before cheering soldiers. Then, caught himself and smiled. "I heard that you may have new recruits? Have you Grey Wardens for me to meet?"

An expression flashed across Duncan's face, his lips pursed and his brows furrowed, but Cailan wasn't sure how to read it. The Warden Commander crossed his arms in front of his chest and bowed low before the king. "Your Highness, I regret that I have only one recruit from this journey."

"_One?_ I thought that there would twenty. What happened?"

"It was my failing. Many were unsuitable, but many were…slain before I could complete the Right of Conscription. I apologize."

Cailan felt a deep sense of disappointment. "Since my father allowed the Wardens to return, I had hoped to grow the Order. Is it too late to find any more recruits?"

"I'm afraid it is, Your Highness. The Darkspawn will move soon, I sense it."

It was times like this that Maric would show confidence. "Then we shall defeat the Blight all the sooner. Come now, where is this new recruit. I should like to meet him."

"_Her_, Your Highness. She is Teyrn Cousland's daughter."

"Bryce's daughter? It seems that the whole family will be here, I think. Fergus departed to launch an attack on gaps in the Darkspawn line and Bryce should ride in with the rest of his army at any time."

Duncan sighed. "I'm afraid the Teyrn will not be coming."

"What? What is the matter?" Cailan took a sharp breath in, wondering if some sort of treachery had revealed itself, but it would not be what he expected. A tall, young woman emerged from the tent, her black hair neatly coiffed and braided with just enough makeup to bring out her natural beauty. He could see the family lineage in her face with Eleanor Cousland's elegance and Bryce's piercing eyes.

"I will let Alice Cousland tell you," Duncan said.

The young lady was dressed in a simple robe, bearing the Griffon _Argent_ on a field of _Azure_, the livery of the Grey Wardens. He thought she was as striking as Anora, but darker and there was something…sinister about her that he couldn't quite place. It was as if there were an archdemon coiled within her, waiting to strike. She made a curt bow, her body stiff and her jaw tensed like a wolf trap. "Your Majesty. I am honored to meet you again," she said in a puppet-like monotone.

Yes, there was something familiar about her, but she was smaller and gangly the last time he saw her. It had been a few years since the Couslands had come to Denerim to pay homage to the king. For a moment, he wasn't quite sure what to say or how to read her odd tone and manner and he drew upon his father for guidance in dealing with this situation. _Be confident. Project your kingly know how._

He puffed up his chest and threw his chin back as he brushed his long blond hair back. "Lady Alice Cousland, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens would benefit greatly from your presence," he said, his voice only wavering slightly.

"Thank you. I beg Your Majesty's indulgence on explaining the matter of my father, but I regret to inform you that he and my mother were betrayed and murdered by Arl Rendon Howe."

Cailan was genuinely shocked and his eyes grew large. "What?" he asked and then looked at Duncan.

"It is true, Your Majesty," Duncan said with a grim nod of his head. "I was in Highever, hoping to recruit both the Lady Alice and Ser Gilmore when Arl Howe launched a surprise attack and seized the castle."

Another unpleasant surprise. "Highever has fallen?"

Alice's eyes said it all. He could literally feel the heat of her fury. "Yes," she said slowly and with great effort as if trying to contain a blaze. "I have Duncan to thank for my life. My father was preparing to ride to the king's summons when Howe betrayed us and attacked us in our sleep. I would humbly beg His Majesty for justice in this matter."

"I can firmly vouch for and attest to this matter," Duncan said.

This time, it was Cailan who was outraged. In the heroic tales that he loved and held dear, justice and mercy were always the morals of the story where the villain got the fate that he deserved. He refused to accept that, in his kingdom, the wicked might sometimes prosper. He felt a hot energy surge through his limbs and he smacked his fist into an open palm. "You shall have justice, good lady," he said with all noble intent, but he knew enough to know that justice could not be swift this day. "However, we must deal with the Darkspawn first. You have my word that once I defeat them, I will swing my army north and we will deal with Arl Howe."

Alice let out a sigh and pursed her lips, but then nodded. "Thank you, Your Majesty. If it means that you will bring Howe to the headsman's axe sooner, I will fight the Darkspawn for you as if my life is already forfeit."

"Oh," he said with a nervous chuckle, "there is no need to go that far. I have heard about your prowess with the blade and I know you shall serve the Wardens long and well."

"I would like to speak with my brother, Fergus, if I may. I need to tell him of the news," she said, appearing to avoid the compliment.

"I'm afraid that he both arrived and departed yesterday. Teyrn Loghain had a mission for him of vital importance to our cause. His action will help greatly in our victory," the king said, hoping to soften the girl's tragedy and give her some hope. With the exception of the unfortunate _issue_ with King Arland, the Couslands had been one of the Crown's closest allies. The fact that Cailan's father had forged such strong bonds with both the Couslands and the Grey Wardens gave him immense pride and he sought with all of his royal heart to further that.

"Can I get a message to him? Is it possible to go myself?"

Duncan put his hand on Alice's shoulder and held her down with a gentle grip. "You are needed here for another vital mission. Perhaps the king might dispatch a messenger?"

Cailan brightened. He wanted to do something for her. Despite her stonelike front, he thought he could see something forlorn and desperate in her like the darkest void. "Of course," he said and then waved a man over. "Ser Elric, please see to it that Loghain sends a messenger to Fergus Cousland."

"Yes, Your Highness," Elric said with a bow that spoke of dignity, experience and honor. His blue satin doublet bore intricate stitched patterns and shimmered in the light of the sun. He also bore the livery of the King's Personal Guard, woven on a fitted tabard – two wolves, rampant on a _per cross_ field, _Or_ and _Argent_.

Cailan gestured to the knight. "This is Ser Elric Maraigne, one of my most trusted men. He will make sure your brother receives word of what happened. Once this is over, Alice, I will accept Fergus' oaths of fealty and install him as the true Teyrn of Highever."

It almost looked like a smile might break out across her lips, but it vanished like snow falling on a hot brazier. She bowed to both the king and Ser Elric. "Thank you, Your Highness. I do not wish to take up any more of your time. We have a battle to prepare for."

"Indeed we do," he said and walked over to Duncan, placing his hand on the Warden's silverite pauldron that covered his shoulder. "Imagine, the King of Ferelden, riding into battle with the fabled Grey Wardens," he added as a shiver ran down his spine. "There are not enough Darkspawn in Thedas that could defeat the Wardens. It will be the stuff of legends."

A look came over Duncan, the same look that Loghain gave him these days. "My King, perhaps it best that you lead the army from a…safer vantage point."

Oh, here it was again - that thing about his not having an heir and the nonsense of possible wars of succession. This was not about possibilities, it was about honor. "Duncan, I appeal to you as a soldier to spare me the humiliation of seeing my army march to meet the enemy and I not share its dangers." He looked back at Alice – there was no way that he would have this girl fight his battles while he sat on a stool from afar and sent messages of encouragement.

Duncan paused for a moment before nodding.

Cailan appreciated the man's concern, but it was time for Cailan to truly be king. How proud Anora and Loghain would be of him. He took a deep breath before continuing. "But, alas, I must go. Loghain and I have more preparations to make before the coming fight. Duncan, Alice, all this king can ask for is a strong sword, a swift horse and a straight ride to glory."


	9. Ambush

W/N - Many thanks again to roxfox, EE, Thug, Ronin and Evan! :D I forgto about Eamon's letter to Cailan and I'm going to include that to deepen the plotting. Let's look at Fergus now. This chapter is pretty bloody. I drew a little bit from my reading of the Battle of Crecy to hopefully capture the fury of a medieval battle and the madness of the Darkspawn. CODEX - An armet is a full helm with a moveable visor, like the one from Cailan's armor in the Ostagar DLC. A flail is a stick with a spiked ball attached by a chain. A halberd is a polearm with an axe and a spike at the end. A_ Chevauchee _is a raid by mostly cavalry to burn, loot and pillage to weaken an enemy or draw it into battle - used effectively by Edward, The Black Prince of England in the 1300's and Henry VIII in the 1500's.

Please enjoy! A bientot.

**The Edge of the Korcari Wilds**

Dark trees towered over the Cousland vanguard as the light of the Sun slowly faded towards the horizon. Anxious soldiers gathered into squares, preparing for the next assault from the Darkspawn. Spears bristled outward from the squares like giant hedgehogs, their tips gleaming in the gloomy forest. Blue and white banners, bearing the laurel wreath with upturned ends, fluttered in the wind. In the center of one of the squares, knights sat astride their warhorses, directing the men-at-arms in planting stakes for the defense. One mounted warrior, clad in a suit of full plate with a surcoat of blue and white, held up a map to the light and shook his head.

"Maker's Teeth," Fergus Cousland swore with a groan as he raised the visor of his armet helm. He looked at the map that Loghain had given him and could not make heads or tails of it. He turned it upside down, but it still made no sense. "Bann Armand, what do you make of this?"

"My lord, this cannot possibly be correct."

Fergus stabbed his gauntleted finger at a point on the map. "We are here. This is where the gap in the Darkspawn forces are supposed to be, but we have run smack into the main force." It was supposed to have been a flanking attack against light resistance to pin the Darkspawn for the main attack that King Cailan would lead. However, it was anything but.

"My lord, we must withdraw. Night will be here soon and we face annihilation," Armand said gravely.

Fergus let out a sigh dripping with disappointment. He had hoped for a chance to prove the Couslands' valor, but the bann was right. They had been hit by three massive waves of Darkspawn and he was forced to abandon the attack and form his army into defensive squares. "Very well, we must preserve our force. We'll march back to Ostagar and inform Loghain that his reconnaissance was incorrect. My father should have arrived by now as well."

He stood up in the saddle and raised his sword. "Signal the withdrawal! Forward units form column of march! We will form the rear guard!"

Signaling flags shifted positions and the Cousland banners were lowered at an angle in a sharp display of command and control. The outer squares marched slowly towards the center of the line and began to unfold like wrapped presents, forming a column of soldiers for quicker movement. Fergus was proud of the disciplined army that his father had forged. They would get another chance at proving their mettle. He could still hear his father's lessons at warcraft – _discretion is the better part of valor._

He snorted, thinking about his earlier insouciance with his son, Oren and sister, Alice, about marching to war. It all seemed like playing the knight errant, galloping at dragons, lance in hand until the brutal, hard reality of battle met him, face to face. Granted, he had ridden in his father's _chevauchées_, fast cavalry raids against brigands and sometimes, troublemaking bann, but this was butchery on an unimaginable scale.

He pointed to the men in his square and bellowed, "Form line of battle! Skirmishers to the flanks!" The rear of the square peeled open and swung into a line, spears forming a wall of steel and wood as cavalry pickets and archers rushed to the sides of the line.

Suddenly, their Mabari Hounds began to bay and howl, straining against their chains. Fergus grit his teeth. He knew what was coming next. The hounds went silent and all that could be heard was the shuffling of armored feet and the rustling of the leaves of the forest. An eerie chill settled over the rear guard and Fergus felt a shiver down his spine as a trickle of cold sweat ran down his face.

Then, a low moan echoed through the trees as leaves blew into the air from the icy wind. The moan grew slowly into a demonic wail of shrieking ululations that seemed to fill the wilds. "Dear Andraste, give me five minutes and I can get us to safety." He looked down from his horse and saw men, looking backwards, fear gripping their faces. He could see the urge to flee rising into their throats. "Stand firm, men! We must have discipline!" he urged and hands gripped spears ever the more tightly like reunited lovers.

At the edge of sight, emerging from the gloom of the forest, he could see them now, an endless horde of misshapen and grotesque forms, horrific caricatures of men, elves and dwarves. Adding to the blood curdling wail, the Darkspawn beat upon their shields with sword and axe, the pounding reverberating through the wilds.

"Archers, hold your fire!"

Like a raging river bursting through a dam, on they came, a flood of corruption – one hundred paces…seventy five paces…fifty paces….

"Fire!"

A rain of arrows flew into the charging mass and two score of the beasts crashed down, long shafts piercing throat and heart, eye and lung. Bowmen plucked arrows from quivers and pulled strings to cheeks. Twenty five paces….

Another volley tore into the ragged ranks of Darkspawn. Broadhead arrows sank into flesh, tearing muscle, tissue and organ. The front rank of the enemy sagged to the ground, lying as they had stood in rows. The next ranks leapt over the fallen, oblivious to their comrades' demise. Fergus could see their red eyes, mindless with violent intent. Ten paces….

A final volley flew into the shrieking horde and then the sea was upon them. Spears bit into the Darkspawn as hounds tore into throats. One Hurlock, impaled on a spear, pulled himself along the shaft so that he could sink his axe into the soldier before expiring. Others were intentionally letting themselves be speared so that their fellows could rush the shield wall.

"Madness," Fergus growled. Two spearmen went down near the left flank and Genlocks scrambled through the gap.

"Armand, plug that breach!"

The bann lowered his lance and spurred his horse. Rider, horse and weapon became one and the tip of the lance pierced the heart of the lead Genlock, carrying through into the next one before it snapped at the tip. Fergus was about to charge himself, but the line just in front of him began to unravel as Hurlocks climbed over their own dead to tear at the shield wall. He tossed his lance aside and pulled a flail from a pouch on his saddle. A Hurlock came at him, but he spun the spiked ball in a half circle and pounded it on top of the beast's head, which came apart like a melon.

With a sweep of his arm, he shattered the shield of another Hurlock as his mount kicked it away. He swung the reins around, repositioning his horse and spun the ball of the flail into the neck of another Hurlock. The spikes lodged into its flesh, but it pulled the flail from his hand as it went down.

In the blink of an eye, Fergus' hand swept down to a scabbard and he drew his sword in time to knock a mace away. His horse kicked again, leveling two of the beasts. "Reform the line! Fall back!"

All was chaos around him now with screaming, howling and barking. Axes and swords flashed as bodies fell, hacked and bloody. Nearby, two Genlocks held a man down as a Shriek tore his throat out. A knight grappled on the ground with a Hurlock and plunged a thick, Cinquedea dagger into its eye. Riderless horses ran about, panicked.

Fergus hacked down at an enemy, his blade sinking inches into its skull. As he yanked the sword out, he could see a Darkspawn lifting a staff. Waves of energy rippled from the staff and his horse reared, throwing him from the saddle. He crashed to the ground, metal impacting with hard dirt, knocking the wind out of him. On instinct, born of training, he rose and parried another attack, deflecting a mace away as he redirected his blade into the Hurlock's groin. He pulled the sword through and looked around, trying to get his bearings. Despite the cold, sweat poured down his face, soaking the padding under his helmet. Barely able to breathe, he tore off the straps to the armet and tossed it away.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Darkspawn mage. He braced to rush at the thing when an arc of electricity leapt from its staff and seared into his metal armor. Fergus howled in pain, but ran at the mage, thrusting the tip of his sword with both hands square into its chest. The creature raged, flailing and grasping at the blade as he pushed forward, pinning it to a tree.

As the mage went limp, he searched for Armand, but the line was collapsing all around him. He grabbed a handful of knights and they put their backs together, swords, axes and halberds facing outward. "We must make a break for it!" He thought about the map and the plan to flank the Darkspawn and he began to understand that they had been set up. They had been marched right into the maw of the enemy.

"My lord, you must escape," one knight shouted. "We'll stand rear guard."

"No, we all escape together. We must stick together!"

Then, he saw something tiny fly at him. A sling stone crashed upon his cheek and his vision went white with pain. He sagged to his knees, barely feeling armored hands trying to drag him backwards to safety. Shrieking and howling erupted around him along with the ring of steel on steel and he was dropped to the ground. Through blurry eyes he saw armored men warding off waves of Darkspawn. So very weary, he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. If he could just rest a moment they could escaped. He tried to will his sword arm up, but it fell back on the forest floor. There was nothing more he could do. If only he could reach out to Oriana and Oren - tell them how much he missed them...tell Oren to grow up to be strong and brave. And, his parents would soon learn of his valor and he could go to the Fade without shame. It would be up to his baby sister now to carry on. He could see her laughing smile and her bright, flirty eyes. Now, he could rest well, but he would have but one regret to take with him.

"Damn," he whispered through pained teeth. "A Cousland, felled by a Maker forsaken rock."


	10. Joining

W/N - Thank you so much for reading and commenting again. I appreciate your participating with me. :D As EE suggested, let's look at Ser Jory, a strong, powerful man who realizes that he has too much to lose now. This chapter was long for me as I wanted to cover three major scenes for Jory and introduce Morrigan. As a Mass Effect fan I had to throw in some ME names for NPC's. Next up is Ser Elric of the Return to Ostagar DLC. Suggestions are always welcome.

Other malarkey - Christmas parties galore! Read Thomas the Train stories to my nephew. Just lost a squeaker to sensei, 3-2. We went a minute and a half of attack and parry without a hit. At the end, he was up in hidari jodan and I tried a tsuki (stab), but I walked right into a head cut. We had a grueling Iaido session. I got good comments on my Tanashita, which is ambushing an attacker by sneaking out from under a shelf and striking. Also, Ryozume, which is fighting with sword in a very tight space like a closet. We learned Tsuigetsuto, which is defeating someone trying to beat your sword away.

Please enjoy and thank you again.

**The Korcari Wilds – Six Days After the Fall of Highever**

When people looked upon Ser Jory all they saw was toughness, bravery and skill. He was a big, beefy man with a thick neck and a pug nose like a brawler. Though he exuded quiet confidence he never minded telling people that he was a knight in the service of Arl Eamon Guerrin and the Champion of Highever two years ago. He also liked to let his size speak for him, wearing a massive suit of riveted chainmail over his muscular frame. In single combat, he often dominated the field, but today, he felt all of that confidence wither away like a dead flower, its petals blowing off into the wind of the wilds.

With his hard-won fighting experience behind him, he had taken it upon himself to lead the tiny group of Grey Warden recruits on a quest to obtain Darkspawn blood. Though they had a true Warden in the group, Alistair, the man seemed content to just listen to others, which suited Jory just fine. Duncan, the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, told them that the Joining could only happen when they brought back the black ichor of at least three of the beasts. Then, he told them to search for an ancient cache of documents that would help the Wardens' cause. With his strength and skill, Ser Jory would bring back these things and achieve his dream of becoming a Warden, their mystic order known to be the best of the best.

When they set out from the gates of Ostagar a day ago, he could imagine his wife, Miranda, smiling and rubbing her swollen belly. He could not wait to return to Redcliffe with the news of his triumph, another one of many. Perhaps by then, their child would be born. He would bring them a mighty gift, worthy of a champion.

But now, Jory scrunched his face up and looked down at the map that he held in his hand. He poked a point in the wilds with a stick. "We're…we're uhh here. No, here. No, that doesn't make sense either." He had never been shown how to read a map, but his exuberance at completing the quest overrode his good sense. He had even ignored Lady Alice's suggestions of triangulating their position with the sun. He hated to admit it, but it seemed like they were lost in the dark shadows of the woods and he heard Alice sigh with irritation. "It all seemed simple enough when Duncan sent us on this quest," he told his three companions, trying to hide his embarrassment of leading them astray. And, Alice was the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever and last year's Champion of Highever and he dared not look foolish in front of her. He had hoped for some reaction from her…a nervous laugh, a forgiving nod, but she gave him nothing.

After several moments of uncomfortable silence, she pointed to the scout, Daveth. "You're skilled in the arts of stealth, right? Why don't you move ahead twenty or so paces and find a trail or some sign of the Darkspawn," she said, seeming to ignore Jory's leadership.

"I thought you'd never ask," Daveth said as he gave Ser Jory an accusatory look, nose wrinkled and one eye narrowed. The rogue loped ahead, his feet silent on the forest floor. As he got near the trunk of a tree, he bobbed his head up and down, speaking in a sing-song voice, "Stick close together, he said. Don't go wandering off, he said, mocking the knight.

Jory bit down, grinding his teeth. Why didn't he think of that? Winning the grand mêlée was one thing, but wandering around out in the woods was something else. He tried to think of something to say, something leaderlike, but he merely stuttered out something incomprehensible.

Alice shook her head and began walking towards Daveth. "Just follow me."

This was not going the way Jory thought it would. He wanted to protest, but all he could do was fall in behind her with Alistair, who merely shrugged. When they found the enemy, he would show them the true Champion of Highever.

"Over here!" Daveth called, sending Alice and Alistair running up ahead. Jory jogged behind her, ready to draw the heavy, two-handed blade that he carried on his back next to a bow. When they entered into a clearing, both of them stopped short, aghast at the sight.

"Maker's breath," he said as a cold prickly was born in his gut. The clearing was littered with corpses, hacked, hewn and stabbed, both men and Darkspawn. Arrows, spears and swords lay or were sticking out of the ground like blades of grass and blue and white banners hung in tatters from poles.

Alice let out an agonized shriek and ran to one of the banners and hauled it down. Jory could see that it bore the green laurel wreath with upturned ends and a three pointed label above, indicating a first child – the heraldry of Fergus Cousland. The girl ran from body to body, searching for something or someone. Then, she knelt down and cradled someone's head. "Bann Armand! Can you hear me? Where is Fergus?"

Jory rushed over as the knight was sputtering and coughing up blood. He knelt down and handed Alice a flask of water, which she poured into the thirsty man's mouth.

Armand's eyes slowly focused. "It's you…Lady Alice? How did you…? You were supposed to be in Highever."

"Yes, it's me, Armand. You're safe now. Where is Fergus? I cannot find him on the field."

"I…don't know, my lady. He stood in the rear guard with us to let the Cousland vanguard escape north. If he is not here, then maybe there is hope that he found refuge."

As the man spoke, Jory tore linens to bind his wounds as Alice dabbed his cuts with a healing salve. "We'll find him, Armand," she said. "Can you stand?"

"Yes…yes, I think so," the knight said and Jory reached down and pulled him up slowly. Armand groaned in pain, but pulled himself upright and proud. "I am unable to fight, my lady, but if we return to Ostagar, I shall rejoin your father's force."

A ripple of tension ran along Alice's jaw. "Father is dead, murdered by the treacherous Arl Howe."

"What? The Teyrn…murdered? That's why you're here. What happened?"

She lowered her head down and placed her hand on Armand's battered armor. "There is no time to explain, Armand. I must complete a quest for the Grey Wardens. I sent about thirty survivors to your lands in the Bannorn. Please go and meet them there and await my word. I will find Fergus."

Alistair walked up, leading a horse. "I've a mount for you, Ser."

Jory helped Armand to get a foot in the stirrup and climb into the saddle. Armand nodded a thanks to the trio and then dug his spurs into the horse's side. As he galloped away, Jory looked back at all of the bodies and his gut tightened like a knot until he could taste the bile in his throat. "There is no glory in this."

Alice grunted. "No, there is only vengeance," she said as she waved Daveth forward. They had found the trail of the Darkspawn and they would see it to the end.

He remembered Alice from his time in Highever, but she was not the same girl. She was known to run through the streets with her Mabari Hound, laughing and squealing. And, she was a flirty one, alright. But now, there was just an empty shell of a person with a raging fire inside. Submitting to her will, Jory fell in behind the girl, walking as if every step would be his last. He jumped at the rustle of the leaves in the cold wind and at the fluttering of birds. He wanted so much to be back with his Miranda now, feeling the kick of the infant to be in her belly. He could smell her long black tresses as if she were sitting before him, a soft mixture of lavender and jasmine. He moaned quietly, the thought of never seeing his baby born unshakable in his mind. He began to realize that he had much to lose and little to gain by joining the Wardens.

"Are you alright, Ser Jory," Alistair asked. The Warden seemed nonchalant about the whole affair as if he were distracted.

"I cannot shake the feeling that we are being watched and I am…just concerned for our lives."

"Me too. I find it easier to make offhand jokes about it. If I can get the Darkspawn to laugh, perhaps it will be easier to kill them."

A smile broke out across Jory's thick lips. "You do make the campfire interesting, Alistair. I am curious about one thing though – why were you not put in charge of this quest? You are the senior Warden here, are you not?"

Alistair pinched up his face and made clucking sounds with his tongue. "Well, you know the deal. I just like being told what to do. It makes things easier. _Alistair, get this. Alistair, send this message. Alistair, don't eat with your mouth open._ Much simpler. So, Ser Jory, why is it that you are now following?"

"I…ummm, the lady seems to know what she is doing. I am here to complete the quest," he said, trying to convince Alistair that it didn't bother him.

"You two seem to have met before," the Warden said. "What do you know about her?"

"She is a skilled swordsman and high born. I feel deeply for her family tragedy. No one should have to lose a parent like that."

Alistair looked down as if a bad memory came to him. "Yeah. I am very sorry for her."

They fell into silence as Daveth led them out of the woods onto a rolling plain that was covered in Tevinter ruins that looked like stone teeth poking up from the jaw of some mythical beast. The thief knelt down and pointed to where a tiny figure of a man, made of wicker, sat on a rock. "I'm not sure what these signs are, but they seem to lead us in the same path as the Darkspawn horde. I've seen several now, aligned in this direction. And, look at the footprints…not human."

"I am no expert," Jory said, examining the wicker figure, "but I think they may be Chasind."

"Chasind?" asked Daveth, ever the city boy. "You mean like when I run away from the constables of Denerim and they're chasin' me?"

Jory let out a little snorting laugh. As annoying as Daveth could be, he was a funny man. It would be interesting serving together in the Wardens. "No, they're a nomadic barbarian people. They have no idea about the Chantry and Andraste's light. Legend has it that the Witches of the Wild come from the Chasind."

Daveth seemed to try and comprehend, but he furrowed his brows. "Witches gone wild? What's that about?"

Alistair spoke up. "They're a coven of apostate mages, dwelling in huts and eating small children. They can kill a man by fear alone. Legend has it that an ancient witch named Flemeth leads them."

"You mean to say that we've got bleedin' Darkspawn, heathen tribesmen and nasty witches around us, all wanting to snack on our giblets?" Daveth asked with a roll of his eyes. "That's just great."

Jory suddenly felt very exposed out in the open and imagined skin painted Chasind rushing from the woods as an old crone drew a tornado out from the ground itself. His eyes darted back and forth from the trees to the nearby hill, but all he could see was a cat watching them.

"Enough." It was Alice. "Don't tell me that I'm the only one with any stones here," she said impatiently. "Daveth, follow the signs. I have a feeling that they will lead us to what we want."

The thief jogged ahead down the trail and to the base of a hill. He knelt down suddenly and held up his hand. Jory stopped just behind Alice. "What is it?" he asked.

She crouched down and began creeping forward. "Jory, Alistair, cover me with your bows. I'll find out."

Jory unslung the bow that on his back and he nocked an arrow. Alice moved slowly up to where Daveth was, behind a bush and they spoke for a minute before she signaled Jory forward. He began to move up, but every step felt heavier than the last as if walking forward hasted his doom. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as sour sweat trickled down his face. He would gladly fight any man in the kingdom in single combat, even the masterful Teyrn Loghain, rather than face this unseen menace that cared for nothing other than butchery. Forcing breath into his lungs he crouched behind Alice.

"Ser Jory," she said, "the Chasind signs lead up this hill, but Daveth spotted a Darkspawn force atop it. You see the ruins up there, yes?"

Jory scanned the top of the hill and a crumbling Tevinter dome poked skyward, crowned with eroded gargoyles and statues of proud archons, long dead. "Yes, I see it."

"I know the cache that Duncan spoke of is up there, I can feel it. The Darkspawn are not many so I mean to take that hill," she said with the confidence that he lacked.

"Can we not just go around? I mean Duncan said 'if' we find it to bring it back."

Alice bared her teeth at him. "How is it that you were Champion of Highever? I remember the man who won that tourney, strong and brave. Where is that man now? What happened to him?" she asked as she put her steel barbute over her head.

"I…I…will follow you, my lady," he said, shamed. He put his head down and nodded. "What must I do?" He knew, deep down that he was no longer in charge. Much had changed since they set out a day ago. He wondered about the horror that had changed Alice.

"Stay here for the moment," she said, pointing to the ground at his feet. "Daveth, Alistair and I will move to the flank. Alistair and I will charge up under the cover of our shields as Daveth covers us with his bow. Once we am engaged, you will charge up and take them from the rear. Understood?"

Jory choked down a lump in his throat and nodded again. He watched them creep off with a sinking feeling as if his favorite hound were running away and he did not like being alone. Up ahead, they made it to another series of bushes and Daveth drew his bow. Jory watched as Alice took a number of deep breaths and then sprinted up the hill, hidden behind her shield, Alistair at her side.

Guttural howls echoed down the hill as the Darkspawn saw the approaching attack. One drew a bow and nocked an arrow, but Daveth fired first. His shaft sank into the Genlock's throat and it tumbled down the hill. Two unaimed shots flew from atop the hill, one flying high and one sinking to Alice's shield. The thief fired again and his arrow deflected off of a Hurlock's armor. Alice dug her heels into the ground and raced to the top as two more arrows stuck into her shield. At the crest of the hill, she flipped the wooden barrier up to block an axe blow as the tip of her sword emerged from below and impaled a Genlock in the gut.

Jory huffed out deep breaths, trying to steel his courage. "Go now, go now, go now!" he said in ever increasing volume and then ran up the hill, holding his two-handed sword over his shoulder. As he charged the enemy, he could see nearly a dozen Darkspawn converging on Alice. One of the Hurlocks fell backward, its claws grasping at an arrow in its chest. Alice slammed one in the face with her shield, knocking it flat and then thrusting her sword into its solar plexus. Nearby, Alistair clove the arm off of one Genlock, right at the shoulder.

His voice now rising to a fierce war cry, Jory raised the heavy blade over his head just as some of the Darkspawn noticed that he was there. He pulled the handle down with both hands, his bulky muscles powering the cut like the rush of a bull. The blade clove into the collarbone of the Hurlock and drove right down to its hip. He pulled the sword through and used the momentum of his attack to spin in a circle, sweeping at the legs of two Genlocks. He felt a little resistance to the movement of the weapon and blood sprayed from the thighs of the beasts as they toppled over, clutching at bloody stumps.

He could hear Alice growling and snarling like a hound along with the thump of blades on her shield. He caught a glimpse of Alistair blocking and cutting, pushing deep into the enemy. Jory heard a movement to his left and turned just in time to see the Hurlock Alpha swinging a battleaxe at his head. He threw himself backwards, tripping over a body and landing flat on his behind, but the axe whistled over his head.

Jory half rolled off of the corpse as the axe came down again and clove the dead Hurlock in two. He tried to take a knee and get up, but an armored boot smashed into his chest, knocking him back. The knight grunted in anger. This, hand to hand combat, was what he was bred for. This was his element and instinct took over. He kicked the ankle of the Alpha and its feet came off of the ground, its body slamming onto dirt. Both were up in a flash and Jory took a low guard, exposing his head. The Alpha gurgled an inhuman laugh and swung his axe backwards, overhead and then down in a huge killing arc.

_Wait for it…wait for it._

With the blade inches from his skull, Jory slipped to the left and thrust the handle of his sword high so that the blade was draped over his head, tip down. The axe glanced off of his sword and lodged into the ground with a puff of dirt just as Jory whirled the massive two-hander around and through the Alpha's neck. The beast froze for a moment before its head slipped from its shoulders.

He blinked heavily and looked around, trying to catch his breath. All was quiet except for Alice, seated atop the chest of a Darkspawn mage, plunging her dagger into its head, over and over. She was soaked in blood and Jory thought she had become an abomination for a moment, so feral she was. "My lady! My lady, it is over. We are victorious," he said, but she seemed not to hear him. Finally, he had to grasp her hands and she twisted, snarling at him, trying to bring the dagger to his throat, but he held her tight. "My lady, it's dead. We must go."

She took several deep gulps of air, her eyes finally focusing on him before she nodded. "I've recovered my senses now. Please let me go, Ser Jory."

He pulled her to her feet and released her wrists. He took a long exhale - the girl was surprisingly strong and lightning quick. If he'd been less of a knight, she'd have slashed him good. As his heartbeat quieted he looked around and saw the fallen enemy and he felt good for the first time in a day. This was the skill that he hoped to show his companions. This was why Duncan chose him.

Alice wiped her dagger on the tunic of the dead mage and sheathed it. "Thank you, Jory," she said as the faintest glimmer of a smirk appeared. "Come, we must fill our vials with Darkspawn blood." Then, she peered over to see Daveth. "Have you found anything?"

He waved them over and pointed to a chest that sat amid a ruined chapel, rotted beams hanging at odd angles and pieces of stonework lying like discarded toys. Remarkably, the chest seemed new.

"That must be because of the wards and glyphs that Duncan spoke of," Alistair said.

Alice looked the chest over. "There…the seal of the Wardens. This is it."

Jory felt a sense of excitement now. The quest was over. He had survived and succeeded in spite of his fear. He would see Miranda again and raise their child. What would they name it, he wondered? A girl might be Ashley. A boy might be Geoffrey. "Quick, open it! Then, let us be out of this place." He could not be away from these wilds soon enough.

Daveth pulled off the lock and flipped open the lid. It was empty.

"Well, well, what have we here?" a sultry female voice called out from above, causing the group to leap up with surprise. They spun around to see a slender young woman with ebony hair that was tied up with wild feathers. She wore an odd mismatch of clothing with a fold of cloth that barely covered her breasts. "Are you a vulture, I wonder…or a scavenger, poking at a corpse whose bones have long since been picked clean. Or…are you an intruder, come into these Darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey." With a staff in hand, she walked with a casual grace towards the party, completely unafraid.

Ser Jory's hands shook again and his breath came in short gasps. He knew a mage when he saw one. _Dear Maker, don't let her turn me into a toad._

Even Daveth trembled besides him. "Andraste's smelly socks, it's a witch gone wild!"

The witch cackled mockingly at them as if she were watching small animals do stupid tricks. "So, what is it, scavenger or intruder? I have watched your progress now for some time. And, now you have disturbed these ashes that have not been touched for years…why is that?" she asked, pacing in front of them, examining them like an alchemist's specimens.

Alistair leaned in between Jory and Alice. "Don't answer her. She looks Chasind and that means others may be nearby."

A frigid shiver ran down Jory's back and settled into his gut. He frantically looked about, imagining the woods to be filled with savages.

The woman waved her hands in the air suddenly and all but Alice jumped back. The witch laughed again. "Why are you all so afraid? Do you think that barbarians will come swooping down on you?"

Alistair glanced around nervously. "Yes, swooping…is…bad."

Unexpectedly, Alice sheathed her sword and walked right up to the woman, who seemed surprised, her lips slightly parted and one eyebrow raised. The two began speaking in quiet voices and Jory strained to overhear them, but he dared not move closer. After a few minutes, Alice turned back to the group. "Her name is Morrigan. She knows nothing of Fergus, but she has agreed to take us to see her mother, who has the documents."

Jory took a tentative step forward. "Are…are you sure. This could be a trap."

"I don't trust this witchy thieving funny woman either," Alistair said.

Alice pursed her lips. "I don't think we have much of a choice. If she wanted us dead, she could have attacked us when we were preoccupied. Just…stay alert."

The next few hours were just a blur for Jory as they followed Morrigan to a squalid hut. This…Morrigan claimed that her mother held the Warden's documents. When the old crone was introduced as Flemeth, Jory's knees became weak and his eyes glazed over. Was it _the_ Flemeth? Only Alice seemed unafraid…or maybe she just didn't care if she lived or died. The girl had this near insane sense of fatalism. The knight fretted over that as he knew that his survival was tied to her survival – if she died, he wouldn't last much longer. Amazingly, Alice bowed before Flemeth and humbly asked for the documents. The old woman actually seemed surprised and placed three scrolls in the girl's hand.

Flemeth laughed. "Well, I never thought I'd see the day. Politeness…in this neck of the woods," she said with another hearty laugh.

As Alice rose, Jory gripped her shoulder. "Come on, let's go," he said urgently through gritted teeth. He had had all he could stand of wilds and witches and wild witches.

"Yes, let's," Morrigan said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The witch walked them towards the trail, whistling and sometimes brandishing a menacing smile. Jory wanted nothing to do with her and kept his distance.

It was all still a blur for the knight as they joined the trail and he looked back to find Morrigan, but only a deer stood where she had once been. The doe snorted at him and then ran off back the way that they had come. "No, it couldn't be," he whispered to Alistair.

"And I thought just swooping was bad," Alistair said dryly. "Apostate witches running about in the wilds. This just keeps getting better all the time."

The march back to Ostagar was remarkable quick and they arrived just at twilight. Campfires roared throughout the compound, snapping and crackling and casting flickering orange glows about. Minstrel tunes rose up from around the fires, but they were much more subdued and a palpable tension hung in the air. As they walked towards the Grey Wardens' tents, Jory could hear a revered mother reciting the Chant of Light to men on their knees. Soldiers kissed religious icons and images of their loved ones as messengers rode through the camp. A battle was brewing.

Duncan was waiting for them in front of the tents. "You've arrived none too soon," he said to Jory. "The Darkspawn are on the move. We must hurry with the Joining. Give me your vials and then meet me in the ruins of the Chantry in twenty minutes. I shall make preparations."

Jory was about to say something when Alice stepped up to Duncan and handed him the containers of dark ichor. "We will be ready," she said.

Duncan withdrew to the main tent and Alistair led them towards the eroded ruins of the ancient cathedral. Night was already upon them and stars were beginning to twinkle in the deep blue sky as the gathering chill gripped them. As they walked along, Jory brought out a tiny cameo with a small painting of Miranda. He held it to his chest, hoping that will alone would bring him back to her. _What more could Duncan want from us? Haven't we done enough to prove our worthiness?_

They walked into the skeletal structure of the Chantry, tall stone walls devoid of the stained glass that had decorated those walls centuries ago. The roof had long since fallen in, leaving the heavens to look down upon them. Jory grunted, crossing his arms. "The more I hear about this…Joining, the less I like it."

Everyone was tired and it looked like Daveth had run out of patience. "Are you blubbering again?" he asked.

"Why all these damn tests? Have I not earned my place?"

The thief got right up into the bigger man's face and wagged his finger. "Maybe it's tradition? Maybe they're just trying to annoy you?"

Jory complained again about having his wife back in Highever about to give birth and about not being warned of all of these tests and Daveth lit into him, their two voices rising in anger. Jory clenched his teeth, ready to smash the thief with his gauntleted hand.

Alice stepped up and gently pulled Daveth back. She looked exhausted, deep bags under her bloodshot eyes. At first, she glared at Jory crossly, but she took a deep breath and put her hand on his shoulder in a sisterly way. "Have faith, Ser Jory. It will be over soon."

Jory felt bad…he felt afraid. He wanted to explain things to Alice so she would understand. He saw what she had become because of the deaths of her parents. What would Miranda become if he were to die? How would his child grow up? He opened his mouth to speak, but Duncan strode up to them, breaking the moment. It was time.

"And now, we come to the Joining," the Warden said, walking through them to an ancient stone altar. "Grey Wardens were founded during the first blight when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank the Darkspawn blood…and mastered their taint."

It was Jory's blood that ran cold. He licked his dry lips and tried to swallow, but he had no spit.

Duncan turned and continued his speech. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you, this is the source of our power…and our victory."

Alistair nodded and spoke of the powers that came with the Darkspawn blood…for those who survived. Alice moved forward, but Jory took a step back.

"We speak only a few words prior to the joining," Duncan said, "but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would."

Alistair bowed his head. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And, should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And, that one day, we shall join you."

Jory heard the words without really listening. He felt as if someone were squeezing his lungs from the inside as he glanced over to the silver chalice on the stone altar. Duncan turned and took the large cup and poured a flask into it. He motioned to Daveth and the thief stepped forward. Daveth looked back at Alice and tried to grin, but Jory could see fear in the man's eyes.

Daveth turned back to the chalice and closed his eyes. In one long gulp, he consumed the vile potion and then stepped back. Jory sighed with relief. It would be all right after all. Then, something happened. Daveth groaned and doubled over, holding his stomach. He fell to his knees and looked back at them as if pleading. Jory recoiled in horror – the thief's eyes had gone all white.

"Maker's breath!" Jory uttered, jumping back. Daveth struggled weakly, trying to rise, but he vomited black blood and crashed forward with a dying gasp.

Duncan didn't flinch. "I am sorry, Daveth. Jory, step forward." The Warden turned and held out the goblet.

Bile began to rise in the big man's dry throat. This was not how it was supposed to be. Joining the Wardens was supposed to be his chance to help save Ferelden, not die in a pool of one's own vomit. No, this madness had to stop. Jory had to get home. He began backing up, drawing his sword. No one would dare keep him from leaving.

"No, I have a wife…a child on the way. Had I known…," he said, desperately looking for a way out, but the only way was past Duncan.

The Warden continued to advance, holding out the cup. "There is no turning back."

Jory brandished his massive sword, pacing like a tiger in a cage. It was like the world was crashing down upon him now. All Duncan had to do was let him go and it would all be fine. "No, you ask too much! There is no glory in this." His back bumped into the stone wall and there was nowhere left to retreat to. He put the tip of his sword towards the Warden's face, hoping that will alone would drive the man away.

Duncan calmly passed the chalice to Alistair and drew a wickedly curved blade, continuing to advance despite the threat. Jory had to strike now. He had to get out of there. Miranda would be waiting for him. If he could just get by Duncan he could put this nightmare behind him. He regretted the day he met the man and asked to join.

Jory grit his teeth and launched at Duncan, swinging his sword with both hands. The blade arced down at the man's head, but in the blink of an eye, Duncan had stepped aside. The tip of Jory's sword clanged into the stone floor, but he reversed the cut and tried to slice into Duncan's flank.

Again, the Warden was too fast and he stepped in, too close for Jory's big sword to be effective. Jory looked down and saw the razor tip of Duncan's sword at his gut. "No!"

He felt Duncan's hand pulling at the back of his neck as cold silverite punched through his chainmail. He felt no pain at first, just pressure running up through his belly into his chest. Then, his throat became wet, not with spit, but with warm, sticky fluid. Duncan twisted the blade.

Every nerve in Jory's body screamed in agony as he spat blood into the air. "No!" he cried more weakly, unable to breathe. His legs buckled beneath him.

"I'm sorry," Duncan whispered. It sounded like his regret was sincere and he lowered Jory to the ground gently as if he were a father setting down an infant.

"No…," Jory whispered this time, his fading eyes watching the horror in Alice's face. For a moment, she looked like Miranda, beautiful with black hair. He tried to reach out to her. "Miri…Miri…," he called, but the woman would not move. He felt steel slide out from his belly and he gurgled pitifully.

Unable to move, he tried to gasp for air, but it was like breathing through water. He watched helplessly as Alice drank from the goblet. He mouthed soundless words to her as the woman sank to her knees. For a moment, he saw a dragon in his mind and he knew that she would survive – she was able to sense the Darkspawn now. If only he had been so lucky. A last, ragged gasp left his mouth and his eyes rolled back into his head and then, all was darkness.


	11. Disaster

W/N - Whew, here ends the second act. I had the story planned up to this point so now I'll have some thinking about what's next. Let's look at Ser Elric and the Battle of Ostagar. The battle is loosely based on the Battle of Towton from the Wars of the Roses. I'm back to my short format as I sometimes lose my train of thought in longer chapters. I'm also introducing the letter that you suggested, EE. I think it does help build the intrigues of the kingmaking to come. CODEX - a _flamberge_ is a two-handed sword with a wavy blade like the Swiss used. A sallet is a helm that is squat like a turtle with a flange that protects the neck. This helm is most famous for being worn by English knights of the mid 1400's.

Other malarkey - I had a chakra healing done by my friend, Jill, who is a Tao Master. Amazing stuff. We hit the spa and salon and I later did a round of Iaido. My _Okuden noto_ or fast resheathing is coming along. A good friend of mine also wants to teach me naginata or the glaive.

Many many thanks for enjoying this with me.

**Ostagar – Just Past Two Bells - During the Battle with the Darkspawn**

Arrows _swooshed_ overhead like thick flocks of birds as thousands of torches burned, lighting the battlefield in a dim, hellish glow reminiscent of the fabled lost thaigs of the dwarves. Cavalry steeds whinnied and snickered nervously, awaiting the orders to charge. Resolute pikemen stood in front, layered in thick phalanxes, ready to receive the enemy. The Darkspawn had come and battle was joined.

In the company of the king's personal guard and the Grey Wardens, Ser Elric Maraigne sat astride his charger, patting it on the neck with his gauntleted hand. "Easy girl, they'll be here soon enough." He watched the horse's ears flicker back and forth as she chomped on her bit. On the horse next to him, King Cailan stood up on his stirrups, surveying the open terrain ahead. "Your Majesty, what can you see?"

The visor of Cailan's armet was up and he put his hand over his brow. "I see them, advancing slowly. Our archers are holding them at bay. Send the light cavalry to the right flank. They'll charge us, that's for sure."

Elric turned to one of the young squires that accompanied the knights. "Have Bann Warenne move his light cavalry to the right flank!" he commanded and the teen spurred his horse into action, the _thrumming_ of hoof beats soon fading into the growing din of war.

Warden Duncan looked over to both of them. "The Darkspawn numbers are great. I've sensed them gathering in the night. We must have a plan for retreat."

Cailan, still surveying the field, waved him off. "Nonsense, Duncan. Remember, Loghain will strike the enemy once the beacon is lit in the Tower of Ishal. And besides," he said, turning to smile at Duncan, "the Darkspawn cannot defeat the mighty Wardens."

Elric saw movement among the ranks of the enemy. "Sire, they are making their charge."

The king slapped his hand on the pommel of his saddle. "Here it is, gentlemen. History is in the making."

Longbow strings rang and another wave of arrows crashed down upon the horde. Genlocks and Hurlocks crumpled over by the dozens, tripping their fellows behind them. The King's Own archery corps was highly trained and could unleash nearly ten arrows a minute. Long shafts flew, one after the other, punching through shield and armor.

"That's the style, boys!" Cailan shouted. "Pour it into them!"

After a dozen volleys, the Darkspawn charge was faltering. Genlocks wavered and hesitated while some Hurlocks fell back. Hundreds of bodies littered the field while hundreds more staggered and crawled away, pin cushioned by arrows. Ser Elric let a grim smile escape his lips. This might be the victory that his king sought after all.

"Send the pikemen forward!" Cailan commanded. "We'll be done in time for breakfast, eh Elric?"

Great kettledrums hammered out a war beat and the hard boots of the pikemen tromped on the cold ground, their long spears held high like a forest of trees. The front ranks were armored in plate from the thigh up while the back ranks wore a mixture of riveted chainmail and leather brigandines. Elric had to admit, it was glorious.

They watched as the front ranks slowly lowered their pikes, an impenetrable phalanx of sharp steel. The Darkspawn wavered in front of them as the pikemen closed and began thrusting their weapons through armor into soft bodies beneath. Elric could see a few, then a dozen, then several dozen of the enemy drop their weapons and flee. The pikemen were cutting a swath through the center of the Darkspawn and it was turning into a rout.

"By Andraste, we've got them on the run! Poor Loghain, he may even have to sit this one out," Cailan whooped, circling his massive _flamberge_ sword over his head. "That's it, boys, give it to them!"

Half the Darkspawn force had turned tail by now, leaving mounds of dead and wounded behind. The elite pikemen continued to press, rotating men to the back from time to time to keep the front ranks fresh. The enemy line collapsed in panic and the whole of the Darkspawn army was fleeing as fast as they could run.

"Sound the recall, Elric! We'll regroup and then send the cavalry in to hunt them down." Cailan sat back in his saddle, a mock frown covering his face. "I apologize, dear Duncan. We didn't even have the opportunity to bloody our blades together."

The king turned to Elric and gently backhanded him on his breastplate. "That was exhilarating, eh Elric?"

"Aye, sire, that was indeed." The knight didn't think that it would be this easy, but he wasn't complaining. Both Loghain and Arl Eamon would finally give the king the respect that he deserved.

"I can't wait to get back to Denerim and see Anora. I had hoped to see the archdemon on the field, but alas, she will have to settle for the Darkspawn banners instead."

As the pikemen returned to their positions, Elric relaxed, pushing the visor of his sallet helm up. There were a few burning questions that he needed to know and, as one of the king's closest confidants, he was not afraid to inquire. "Your Majesty, I have to ask, why did Arl Eamon not take the field with us?"

Cailan's brow furrowed and he sucked in his lips. "I cannot answer that, Elric. Messengers were sent and I received assurances that he would come. He promised five thousand spears."

The knight nodded. Ever since the assassination of Teyrn Cousland an uneasiness sat in his heart. Eamon was often known to have his own agenda as many of the nobles did – Ferelden was far from being the unified land that Orlais and Tevinter were. "Sire, you know that I only have your best interest in mind, but Arl Eamon's letter to you, advising that you divorce Anora, was out of line."

The king exhaled deeply and Elric could see the pain on his face. "Perhaps it was. As Eamon said, Anora is nearing thirty and we are still without an heir."

"I know Eamon is your uncle, but are you actually considering this, sire?"

"I love Anora deeply…with all of my heart. I could not rule without her."

Elric felt relief. Queen Anora was indeed a great woman, smart and willful, with incredible insight into the running of the kingdom. "That is good to hear, sire. Anora is a good Queen and it would be wise not to alienate Loghain. There will be another way. Ferelden will have a future monarch from the Theirin line."

Cailan gently pushed the knight on the helm. "Well, it's not from lack of trying, eh Elric?" he said with a ribald jest.

Horns in the deep of the forest interrupted the conversation and they rose up in their saddles to see what was the matter. "Eh, what's this?" Cailan asked.

Elric could now see another horde of Darkspawn emerging from the woods, but this force was many times greater than the last. He shouted to one of the squires. "Alert the archers! Prepare for battle!"

Cailan turned to Duncan. "It seems that we will fight together after all."

Another wave of Hurlocks and Genlocks surged forward, but this time, massive horned monstrosities stood amongst them. "Maker's breath, what are those?"

Elric saw Duncan grit his teeth. "They are Ogres. We will have a fight on our hands."

Longbows _twanged_ again and shafts rained down on the Darkspawn. Scores fell, but on they came. It looked like one of the fabled tidal waves that were said to crash upon Par Vollen from time to time. Elric was about to give the command to the archers to fire at will when something grew bigger in his peripheral vision. He turned in time to see a massive stone hurtling down on him. "Maker's b-" he began as he tried to twist away. The head-sized rock glanced off of his breastplate, knocking him completely off of his horse. He crashed to the ground, his helm smashing onto a rock and everything went dark.

He drifted into the Fade and all seemed like he was floating in broth. Bizarre statues and twisted rocks grew out of the ground while translucent white people ran about, screaming and crying. He looked down at his hands and saw that he was nearly transparent too. Then, he saw it, a floating black city atop a massive rock, suspended in midair. What manner of madness was this?

He took a breath and tried to focus on the city, but it began to dissolve before his eyes. He blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing and suddenly, his whole body was wracked by pain. Elric gasped and sputtered, his ears ringing. Now, he was lying face down and put a hand on the ground to push himself up. As his hearing returned, he could hear roaring and shrieking and clash of steel all around him. A hand pulled him up and he could see Cailan through his dented visor. The king was on foot and covered in gore.

"Elric, thank the Maker you're alive!" Cailan shouted over the deafening din of battle. The earlier bravado was gone, replaced by a wide-eyed look of fear. "We must reform the line! Where is that damn beacon?"

Elric bellowed orders and pushed retreating men back in line. He scanned back towards Ostagar and saw a fire growing atop the tower. "By Andraste, it's about time. Sire, Loghain will be advancing shortly."

Cailan grit his teeth and nodded. "All this talk of glory is not quite what I expected, eh Elric? I'll not make this mistake again." A fierce resolution now burned in his eyes and the king seemed older, more mature. There seemed to be a little bit of Maric in that face. Elric knew that the boy-king was now a man.

The king's banners swayed back and forth, signaling Loghain where to strike. Elric watched as the Teyrn's crack troops formed on the ridgeline above, in perfect position to flank the Darkspawn. Horns sounded from this hill, but it was not the call that was promised. "Sire, they are calling retreat! This is treachery!"

Cailan was stonefaced for a moment as the realization of the betrayal set in. 'We must fall back and reform! I must save my men." He pressed something into Elric's hand. "Here, take this key. It is the only way to unlock my personal chest. You _must _not let it fall into the wrong hands. There are letters in there that may save Ferelden." He then turned to command his troops, but the enemy had broken through. Hurlocks and Genlocks rushed at them, howling in fury. Cailan swung his massive _flamberge_ through two of the Darkspawn sending limbs and heads flying. The king spun and cut again, his wavy blade slicing through armor and flesh.

Elric moved in to support this king, but a massive creature strode forward in the gloom, demonlike in the flicker of the burning torches. The knight rushed at it, but it crouched down, its horns bristling like a stag's. He tried to get out of the way, but the monstrosity crashed into him, knocking him flat. He began to rise, but the Orge reached down for him.

With a shout, Cailan ran in and sliced the beast across the thigh. It bellowed in pain and anger and swept the king up in its enormous hand. In slow motion, Elric could see the Ogre pull back its other fist.

"No!"

He could see Duncan sprinting towards them, but the Ogre's fist smashed into Cailan's body and the king's helmet went flying. Blood sprayed into the air.

Elric tried to dash forward, but fleeing soldiers ran into him. "The king is dead! Run for your lives!" they screamed in mindless panic. He was dragged along in the rout, unable to rescue his lord. He cried out in frustration, thrashing about to free himself from the mob. All he could see now was Duncan stabbing repeatedly into the Ogre's body and the beast crashing down. In the next moment, three arrows punched into Duncan's chest and the Warden was swallowed in the tidal wave of Darkspawn.

Elric stopped thrashing, turned, and ran for all he was worth.


	12. Righteousness

W/N - Many thanks to Roxfox, EE, Jayme, Thug, Evan and Ronin. I should read that piece with Amethyne. I must have spent half and hour trying to get that girl to talk or take her with me. I took a little break to write some Mass Effect fluff stuff so let's pick up after Lothering, after Redcliff and saving the Tower of Magi. We'll take a slightly whimsical look at our favorite bard, Leliana and see the Warden get more and more tweaky. I noticed that Father Kolgrim looked a lot like some character in an over the top movie so I'm drawing a little tongue in cheek humor from that along with a little Monty Python. I always thought religious wars were pretty stupid and I poke a little fun at that too.

Thank you all so much again and Merry Christmas.

**Beyond the Wyrmling Lair – Two Months After the Fall of Highever**

The advance of the quest party had been pretty steady from the time that they had slain the dragon cultist congregation in the Haven's Chantry. Leliana first fought and then watched as Alice Cousland butchered the cultists. Of course, they were attacked, but the sheet amount of bloodletting and savagery shocked her Orlesian sensibilities. There had to be…subtler ways of getting to the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

Then, the now free Brother Genitivi led them deep into the mountain, a frozen and forbidding temple built eons ago for Andraste's followers to resist the might of the Tevinter Imperium. Alice's strategy was simple, but efficient – Leliana and Zevran would scout ahead and lay traps, while the rest waited in ambush. Once sprung, the cultist reavers would be showered with arrows and the teeth of the Mabari hound, Cyrano. Then, Leliana and Zevran would spring from behind as the swords and axes of the rest would close in for the kill.

It wasn't that Leliana minded killing. After all, she'd done it more times than she could count and these people were bad, blasphemous people who had warped the worship of Andraste and the Maker. But, the whole putting heads on pikes as a warning to resisters…that was a bit much. After they had saved the Circle of Mages and escaped the Fade, Alice had emerged stronger, faster and smarter to the point where she wrestled Sten to the ground. Later, Leliana joked with Alice about _The Game_ in Orlais, where nobles one upped each other with elaborate tricks and subterfuge. The Warden simply didn't get it, saying that she would just kill them and annihilate their families. Leliana had come to consider Alice a friend, but sometimes, the girl frightened her to the core.

Now, she and Zevran had infiltrated a monstrous cavern with dripping stalactites the size of whales and bizarre rock formations that looked like the demons and abominations that the Chantry had warned her about. Faces covered to conceal their steaming breath, they crept along, often hand and foot, over slimy stones and moss covered rocks until they reached a vantage point overlooking a group of cultists. They had about fifteen minutes before the party would enter so Leliana settled down, setting her bow by her side and uncovering her quiver of arrows. Zevran was already applying poison to his arrowheads and he winked at her when he noticed her looking.

"Ah, you cannot help but gaze at Zevran here, eh? I knew that time you spent in the Chantry would cause you to work up…certain urges."

The old Leliana would merely have laughed and would have manipulated the poor sex crazed elf into becoming her tool. But, the new Leliana was a cat of a different color. The Maker had spoken to her directly and she believed in the Chantry and the message of righteousness. The Chantry had saved her from pain and suffering and betrayal and she would not give into baser things. "Sex is not the only thing in the Maker's universe, Zevran," she chided.

Zev didn't bat an eye. "But, you have to agree that it is one of the most pleasurable things, no?"

She had to give him that. For a moment, her mind wandered to Marjolaine, her once mentor in the Orlesian Game. Marjolaine introduced her to love too. Leliana tingled at the thought of her mentor's powerful, shapely thighs wrapped around her own. But then, the image changed into Marjolaine's stiletto dagger protruding from Leliana's ribs. _I'm sorry, my pretty thing, but it had to be done_. Images of torture and abuse flooded her senses and she shuddered, still feeling the agony of the ordeal. She snorted. "Surely, Morrigan would prefer this banter with you." Actually, the witch would probably turn Zevran into a toad.

"Ah, but Morrigan refused to enter here so she stayed back with Brother Genitivi. I would have to go back there to tempt Morrigan so."

"My point exactly. Now, are we going to prepare for the Warden's arrival and save the day or should I just pull down my small clothes now?" she said with an edge of sarcasm.

Zevran actually had to think about it. "Well…how much time do we have left?"

_Sigh._ Leliana merely turned her nose up and began putting grenades out within easy reach. She lined them up by type for easy use – fire, cold, acid and explosive.

Zevran was not deterred. "I'll…uhh…take that as a rain check then."

Despite his annoying persistence, she knew that he was excellent at his job and was glad when Alice spared him in a shocking display of mercy. She still recalled when, after the Crow ambush, Alice stepping on the head of the wounded female assassin lying next to Zevran and shoving the tip of her sword into the woman's mouth.

Then, she saw movement at the mouth of the cavern. "Shush, Zev. Here they come." Leliana counted eight cultists, including two mages. She had also noted some traps that the cultists had set, but those would be easily destroyed by a grenade or an arrow shot. She watched as Alice deployed the party into fighting positions to await the throwing of grenades – the two Wardens formed a shield wall, while Sten and Oghren waited immediately behind with Cyrano and Wynne brought up the rear, heavily defended by the warriors.

Leliana picked up the two explosive grenades and cocked her arms back when one of the cultists moved towards the party, hands raised.

"Wait! I wish to parley!"

Leliana gasped. "What's this?" she whispered and Zevran crept up uncomfortably close next to her. She was going to shove him away, but there was no time to start such games.

Alice broke cover and advanced ahead of the shield wall. "I'll hear what you have to say, but be quick about it."

The man was dark with a thick, black beard and piercing eyes. He reminded the bard of an Orlesian play in which a warrior king led a small band of followers to glorious death. He placed his two-handed battle axe in a sheath at the back of his silverite mail coat. "I am Father Kolgrim. You are formidable to have come this far and so, I may decide to forgive your blasphemy."

The Warden rolled yet another head towards Kolgrim. "Does this change your opinion?"

The father grunted, but ignored the gruesome trinket. "I could fire upon you. We would shower you with arrows."

Alice held up her shield. "I brought an umbrella."

Kolgrim waved his hand dismissively. "Bah! There are bigger issues at stake here. I offer a proposal. We have been prevented from obtaining the Urn of Sacred Ashes and we would forgive your transgressions if you assist us in this matter."

Leliana's ears perked up at the mention of the urn. It was one of the most holy objects in all of Thedas and was assumed to be nothing but legend after all of these centuries had passed. She had seen it in her vision and had seen Alice holding the sacred urn in her hands. Surely, this was the path that the Maker had shown her. If only the Lothering Chantry brothers and sisters could see her now, their scornful looks might vanish from their faces.

Kolgrim continued, "We need the ashes from the urn to bring Andraste reborn into her full power!"

The bard recoiled. "Andraste reborn? This is blasphemy."

Zevran put a hand on her shoulder. "Shhh. Stay calm. Religious squabbles are none of our business."

"Well, maybe none of _your_ business. Surely, Alice is not buying into this?"

Down below, the Warden put her hands on her hips and raised the visor of her sallet helm while lowering the bevor. "Andraste reborn? What are you talking about?"

"The Prophetess Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine. Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay her now."

Alice narrowed her eyes. "I'm listening. Continue."

"I will give you a vial of Andraste reborn's blood and you will defeat the guardian and get the urn. Then, you will pour the blood into the urn and destroy the ashes. Only then can Andraste reborn come into her full power!" he yelled in near ecstasy, shaking his fists and clenching his teeth.

Leliana's throat tightened and a tinge of red colored her vision. "No, she needs to shut him up. She needs to stop him," she said in a seething tone and cocked her arms back again to throw the grenades.

Zev grabbed her wrists. "No, wait. Let this play out."

She turned to the Antivan Crow and pulled her arms away. "I will _not_ let the Sacred Urn be defiled. I will not."

The elf put the palms of his hands out to placate her. "Very well…we won't let that happen, but let the Warden do her thing."

Leliana let out a long sigh and relaxed her arms. Alice was casually striding towards Kolgrim, nodding her head at his loud words.

"Well," said Alice, "how can I trust that this is indeed Andraste reborn. I've seen a lot of imitations in my time. There was a fellow in Highever that claimed to have Andraste's knickers and he charged people two silvers just to touch them. And, believe me, he became a rich bas-"

"You non believers out there in the false world worship sacrilegious icons with your false Chantry. We know that you profess to have seven sacraments…seven! Don't you know that there are only three true sacraments?"

"Three, you say? Penance, marriage…uhhh, what else?"

Kolgrim shook his fists in the air as if he were at his wit's end with a stubborn child. "No, no!" he shouted, his eyes and the veins on his neck bulging. "They are baptism, confirmation and ordination! Even a babe knows that!"

Alice shrugged and rolled her eyes, which seemed to get Kolgrim to spin even higher. Leliana began to see what the Warden was doing and a smile formed on her lips. As Kolgrim stomped on the ground, about to burst a blood vessel from apoplexy, Alice's hand swept down to a small sheath at her waist and a flash of steel flew through the air at one of the mages. The blade of a dagger sank into the man's chest up to the hilts and he staggered back, gasping and clutching at the handle with clawed hands.

Alice made a signal to her scouts and Leliana hurled the two grenades, which landed amidst the cultists and burst into flame and shrapnel, tearing apart traps and flesh. The rest of the party came rushing ahead.

Kolgrim bellowed in anger and pain. "How dare you! This…is…Haven!" he shouted as he kicked Alistair in the shin, knocking the former Templar down into a shallow hole.

As Leliana prepared her next two grenades, arrows twanged from Zevran's bow and Sten's warcry rose above all else.

"_Nehraa Beresaad!_"

Leliana had no idea what it meant, but it sounded so fearsome. She chucked the next two grenades at the remaining mage, but the man put his staff up and the spheres burst in midair, throwing fire in all directions. He then pointed his staff at her and an arc of electricity sizzled upward. At the last second, the bard let loose a song that distracted the mage. The bolt altered directions ever so slightly and flowed into the rock column next to her that shattered into thousands of fragments. Bits of stone pelted Leliana through her leather battledress and bounced off of her bacinet helm.

Zevran cried out in pain, "I hope I don't get blood all over me again." He immediately jumped back up and shot an arrow into the back of one of the cultist reavers. "Just once I'd like to walk into one of these places and discover a lively dance, or a drinking festival or even an orgy. But alas, no."

Leliana had a good comeback, but there were more important things to attend to. She drew her shortsword and dagger and leapt over the ledge, sliding on her backside down the slope. As she regained her feet, she saw the mage lift his staff again and she dove behind a rock as a wave of energy rolled over her. She scuffed her knee as she rose and gritted her teeth. "I tried to be merciful!" She rolled ahead as a stalactite crashed into the ground where she had been standing and came up at the mage's feet, thrusting both sword and dagger into his chest. "Try not to look too incompetent, it's embarrassing," she said as the mage's eyes rolled back and he sagged to the ground.

The bard looked around and saw Alice, her helm now closed, trading blows with Kolgrim. The _Revered Father_ twirled his battle axe like a baton, powering blows into the Warden's shield that she had to continually angle to deflect the blade away. Knicks and scratches now covered the wood and metal barrier, marring the green laurel wreath of the Cousland family on its face. Leliana rushed over the mushy ground to aid her friend. On the run, she picked up a rock and flung it into Kolgrim's head. The little stone impacted with a _thunk_ and the man staggered, bringing one hand up to the back of his skull. Alice immediately seized the moment and slashed the tip of her blade diagonally down Kolgrim's chest in a _banderole_ cut, sending riveted mail links scattering about.

The _Revered Father_ cried out and made a feeble one-handed swing with his axe. Alice didn't even bother to parry it, merely ducking under the arc of the blade. Leliana saw the razor tip of Alice's sword flash and she ran up behind Kolgrim to finish the deed. Alice's hand thrust forward and Leliana's dagger came down at the same time, piercing mail links front and back. The bard's dagger buried itself at the base of the man's neck just as the tip of the Warden's sword protruded out his back, barely missing Leliana.

Kolgrim snarled and gurgled, spitting blood on Alice's helmet. Leliana twisted the dagger and the man groaned weakly, sinking to his knees. The bard snorted. She knew that Alice would take his head in her obsessive ritual of vengeance, but this time, the Warden would be justified. Blasphemy had to be dealt a blow with an iron fist. Leliana looked down into Kolgrim's fading eyes and told him, "The righteous stand before the darkness and the Maker shall guide their hand."


	13. Inferno

W/N - Well, shave my back and call me an elf. Many thanks and Merry Christmas. I really went back and forth on where to pick up after Ostagar and I wasn't sure where to pick up next. I might have to do a couple of one shots to fill in now. I know what you mean about caverns, EE, my husband and I did some rappelling in caverns in California and it was total Call of Cthulhu. I did think that the Urn would be Leliana's one big sticking point as she would attack you if you defiled it so I figured it would be the rare time in which she would get really riled up. That's a good point about shields and I think I'll incorporate that in future fight scenes. I'm changing the timeline a bit from two months after Highever to six as I'm putting this scene after Orzammar and the Brecilian Forests too. Next will be the trials in the temple, but if there are any ideas on the next step, please suggest. :D I've got a lot of nervous energy lately so I'm just a typing fool right now.

This one's a fight here and I hope you enjoy the action. There's some Oghren tongue in cheek too. I just learned that the voice actor for Oghren also played Grunt in Mass Effect 2, so I'm poking the Krogan a little bit. Plus, a little poke at Gimli from LOTR. I hope to capture some of that Oghren charm here.

Other malarkey - What a wonderful Christmas. My cousin hosted the event and we got to unwrap presents and play with my niece and nephews as well as my goddaughter. My 3 1/2 year old nephew baked cookies and got an electric car which he drove with me chasing him up and down the sidewalk. My husband is watching DVR football so I get to type. I still don't know the results of the winter kendo tournament, but I hope that my score will put me in 1st place. There were 12 competitors, four being women. I practiced a little bit of Iaido too. My tate ichimonji cut (straight overhead and down) is very good, but I need work on the yoko ichimonji, which is horizontal. I'm now very satisfied with kesagiri (diagonal in both directions) and gyakugesa (upward diagonal).

Happy Holidays! :D

**The Mountaintop – Six Months After the Fall of Highever**

"Perhaps ringing the gong was not the brightest of ideas, Warden," Oghren said dryly as he watched the winged shadow on the ground grow larger and larger as the sound of the gong faded away. Thank the Stone that he still had some of Wilhelm's Special Brew because he was going to need a lot of it once this was done. A deep flapping sound could now be heard and the air began to swirl fiercely as if a tornado was forming. The dwarf settled into a crouch and gripped his battle axe tightly with both hands and felt a bead of cold sweat roll down his forehead into his eye.

Out in the open, he saw Alice swing her sword in a circle around her head and she shouted, "Keep moving, everyone! Use the rocks for cover and then spring out!"

Sten bellowed out some of his sodding heathen words and moved to Alice's side. "That crazy bitch is going to get us all killed one day," he grunted to Zevran as the elf drew his bow. Still, she did find Branka for him down in the Deep Roads so he would follow her wherever she led. The fact that Alice then slew Branka was a minor detail…that shrew of a dwarf woman had it coming. Then, he saw it…a monstrous black, scaly beast that was the stuff of nightmares. It had claws the length of swords and teeth like spears. Its long neck and head were armored more heavily than any knight. This was a High Dragon, an army killer.

Oghren snorted derisively. "By the tits of my ancestors, we already kicked Flemeth's ass. What's another sodding lizard?"

The beast landed and the ground shook as if an earthquake had struck. Zevran and Leliana fired arrows, but the vortex created by the flapping of the dragon's wings blew the darts away as if they were straw. Oghren knelt down in the face of the gale and could see Wynne hiding behind Shale's rocky mass. Leliana yelped as she was blown over backwards and the Mabari hound, Cyrano, flew off like a toy. Where the sod was Morrigan when you needed her? The snarky witch fussed over all that sodding nonsense about Andraste and the Maker until Alice told her to stay with Brother Genitivi. Sodding witches….

"We can't even make headway!" Alistair cried as he tried to advance only to be forced back by the wind.

But, the worst was yet to come. With every flap of the dragon's wings, rocks and splinters of wood became lethal projectiles and dust swirled in the air like a smoldering volcano, choking and blinding everyone. The _patter _of pebbles everywhere came on like a rainstorm and Oghren lost sight off his comrades as tiny stones hammered on his Legion of the Dead armor. He dimly heard frustrated and pained cries all around him through the dust storm.

The dwarf had had enough of this and forced his legs to push forward. He squinted as dirt howled through the holes in his helmet and he charged in the direction that he hoped the dragon would be in as rocks bounced off of his armored body, stinging him like bees. "Let's see what your innards look like!" As his feet plodded along, he thought he saw something just up ahead and ran towards it. He was about to cock his axe back when he bumped into someone, two firm, metal plated mounds poking right into his armored face. It was the Warden's breasts. "Nice," he said, elongating the word for effect.

Two strong hands grasped his shoulders and turned him to the right. "That way!" he heard her shout. "Follow me!"

Now, he could just barely make out Wynne, sheltering behind Shale, her staff about to strike the ground. She uttered some of that mage mumbo jumbo and hammered a rock with her stick. The ground shook again and a shockwave of energy rippled outward like a pebble landing in a pond. In an instant, the air cleared and the wind died away. The dragon recoiled as if it had been slapped in the face and its reptilian eyes grew big.

"You're in for it now, beastie!"

Zevran shot an arrow into its flank and the party charged from all quarters. Oghren raised his axe and ran at the monster that was easily the size of a small keep. He saw Alistair and Sten cut deeply into its scaled legs and he whirled his axe in a circle, slicing away scale and flesh from its chest. The dragon roared and slithered back, incredibly fast for its enormous size. Then, out of the corner of his eye slit, he saw something move…something big – it was the dragon's tail.

Like a whip, the spiked tail cut through the air, its spade-like tip sharper than a headsman's axe. Oghren's eyes peeled open as big as they could get and he dropped to the ground just under the sweep of the massive tail. Sten wasn't so lucky – he caught the blow on his armored chest and the spade sliced through metal with a grinding sound. Sten was flung into the air like a top, blood spraying in a red circle and he crashed to the rocky ground.

Oghren leapt back up as Wynne rushed over to the wounded Qunari. Alice stabbed the monster as Shale rained blows with her stone fists. The dragon's head, which was bigger than the biggest ox, snapped to the side, seizing Shale in its razor teeth. It shook the stone golem like a rag doll and flung her into the air. This was not going well.

More arrows sank into the dragon's chest and it looked over to where the two archers were reloading. It appeared about to take flight in that direction when Oghren saw an opportunity. "By the Stone, I hate reptiles," he grunted and sprinted in. Just as the dragon tensed to leap, he hewed the beast's rear leg, the heavy blade of his axe cleaving through scale, sinew, muscle and bone.

The dragon coiled up and then flopped over, shaking the ground as it fell. It let out another painful roar, bringing a smile to the dwarf's lips. But then, it began to roll over on its back towards him, a mountain of scales threatening to squash him like a bug. "Son of a-" he started to say when the Warden grabbed him and tossed him to the side.

Being tossed was one of the ultimate insults for a dwarf, but Oghren would have kissed the Warden, then and there, if he could. As the massive bulk of the dragon rolled by him, he watched Alice leap up on its body and plunge her sword into its chest. The dragon swung its neck in an arc and its armored head plowed into the Warden, knocking her over. With her sword in hand, she tumbled down the dragon's side and landed flat on her back next to Oghren. The dwarf moved in front of her, brandishing his axe protectively and he watched the dragon inhale deeply, its chest puffing upward to fill its lungs.

"Oh, sodding great."

An inferno of flame burst from the dragon's mouth at them and Oghren winced, expecting to be incinerated in the next moment. As he braced for the end, a shield was thrown up over he and Alice and he saw Alistair behind it, leaning into the firestorm. Heat and flame billowed around them, charring the scrubby plants on the ground, but Maric's Shield was made for just such a defense. The dwarf snorted at the former Templar. "Heh, good thing I'm not gassy today or we'd all fry right about now."

From the ground, Alice burst out laughing. The Warden had this warped, fatalistic sense of humor that Oghren could appreciate. Then, a cone of ice sprayed onto the dragon's face from Wynne's staff and the firestorm evaporated into mist. Baring its fangs, the wyrm stretched out its long neck at the mage, looking to put an end to Wynne's torments, once and for all. In a flash, Alice leapt to her armored feet and jumped up to grasp one of the spikes on the dragon's neck. Flinging her shield away, she hauled herself up onto its skull before the beast realized that something was wrong. It began to reach up with its foreclaw to swat her away when Oghren pulled Alistair forward. "C'mon, boy!" he shouted and then looked back at the dragon. "No you don't, beastie!"

They ran forward as more arrows peppered the dragon from afar. Sten staggered back in and the three hacked into the monster's chest as Alice drove the tip of her sword down into its brain. The dragon let out a long, blood curdling shriek that shook the Tevinter ruins like the hand of the Maker himself. It thrashed back and forth as the three warriors rained blows on its body. It raised its head one last time and then crashed to the ground, forcing the three to scramble out of the way.

On his backside, Oghren shook his head to clear the cobwebs. "I think I browned my pants. No, wait, I was _just_ gassy after all."

Alistair waved his hand around, fanning the air desperately and Sten uttered some other heathen phrase. Wynne wrinkled her nose. "Oh, Oghren, I can smell you from here."

The dwarf jumped up. "Heh heh, old Oghen's still got it." He saw Shale limp back over, carrying Alice's mutt over her shoulders. The poor dog looked like it had been fluffed up by a heat dryer, its fur all standing on end. Oghren chuckled and walked over to where the dust was settling and the Warden was wiping blood from her sword. "Aww crap, Warden, that makes two dragons for you now." He was feeling just a tad jealous at how she had dispatched both of the monstrous beasts.

She sheathed her sword, making the sound of metal scraping on leather. Then, she pulled out a dagger and began to cut into the dragon's neck, removing scales and tossing them into a bag. "I'm just keeping in practice for when I see Arl Howe," she said as she cut deeper into flesh as if she meant to saw its whole head off, inch by bloody inch.

He tried to laugh, but the girl's voice just gave him the chills, right down to the bone. Silently, he drew out his flask of Wilhelm's Brew and chugged the rest of it down, feeling the warm ale slide into his gullet. "I'm sodding looking forward to _that_," he said grimly, knowing that it would be the fight of their lives.


	14. Mercy

W/N - Many many thanks again for all of your reviews and input. It really helps me to script the story and improve my writing as well as loving the support. Let's enter the temple now and come back to the Warden's POV. I changed and tailored a bit of the trials for flow sake. There's a little bit of whimsy, a little bit of horror, a bit of poignancy and a little bit of romantic foreshadowing to come. I still haven't decided on a romantic outcome, but when I played this character, I was the skank of skanks, having Dairren, Alistair, Zevran, Leliana, and Isabella. This may be a turning point in the Warden's character.

CODEX - I forgot one from the last chapter. Bevor - a curved metal plate that fits over the chin and throat that you can pull down for air or better communication. Faulds - metal hoops that fit over the waist and hips. Cuisses - armored plates for the thighs. Quillons - metal part of the hilts that often turn up to hook or trap weapons.

**The Mountain Temple**

The party heaved on the massive doors to the temple and they parted with a deep, awful groan, a testament to their having been untouched for centuries. Sten and Alice grasped one of the thick bronze handles and grunted with effort, their faces straining until the hinges creaked and crackled and finally gave way, swiveling the ancient oak doors open.

Alice led the way in, her armored boots stirring the dust of uncounted years, but yet, the air was cool and crisp inside, not the fetid rotting smell of other ruins she had been in. "Lanterns," she said and beams of light pierced the darkness ahead, revealing a wide staircase that penetrated deeper into the mountains.

"So," Zevran said, holding his lamp just above his head, "Didn't that Kolgrim fellow say that no one has been here in ages? I get the feeling that someone _is_ here now." As always, he seemed to get in right behind her, his codpiece poking into her thigh.

She just ignored that. "You get that too? I thought it was just me. He did say something about a guardian though. We best be careful." She inched along at first, trying to soften the footfalls of the hard leather soles of her boots, making quiet _clunking_ noises. She looked back to see Zev and Leliana nod that the way was clear and she shuffled along, Alistair at her side. This whole place had already been filled with nasty traps and she wasn't taking any chances.

At the base of the stairs, Alice waved the rest of the party up and her two scouts took flanking positions, their bows drawn and ready. Cyrano continually poked his nose between her legs, sniffling and woofling. He sensed something too.

"I always thought he was big enough to ride," Alistair told her, trying to lighten the dark mood. "He'd make a wonderful horse."

The hound let out a little growl to show his displeasure and Alistair took a step away, apparently afraid he might bite. Alice ignored the two and carefully went up the steps, one by one, until she peered over the top of the ledge. "Give me some light," she said, but then, torches in the room ahead unexpectedly burst into flame. "What the…. Douse the lanterns." Someone was already here.

Her muscles kicked in and she crouched down, only the top of her helmet showing into the room. She could just make out one person, standing immobile in front of another door. "I think it's the Guardian. Hold a moment." She squinted her eyes and focused on what appeared to be a knight in magnificent silver armor, plates integrated with riveted mail. A thick, pointed beard poked out through the open face of winged bacinet that glittered in the flickering lights of the torches.

Cyrano prodded her in the behind with his nose and made a whine, but she waved him back. "I know, I know. I'm not afraid. I'm just thinking."

The knight didn't appear to have seen them yet so she motioned everyone back down and then turned to Alistair, a man she had really come to trust in all of this insanity. She really needed some words of encouragement about now – the fight with the High Dragon had taken a lot out of her and her will was flagging. Besides, they all needed a break to refresh. She raised the visor of her sallet. "I can't imagine that Duncan ever envisioned this; you and me, all that remain of the fabled Wardens, creeping through some mountain temple, looking for a fabled pinch of ashes."

Alistair raised his visor as well. She expected an off-key quip from him, but his face was serious and his eye contact sincere. "Perhaps not, but he could not have chosen a better person to lead us and I think _that_ is what he envisioned."

She snorted a bit dismissively. "You must have thought I looked rather pathetic when I arrived at Ostagar."

"I…saw you and Duncan ride up," he began slowly, obviously trying to be diplomatic. "He said he would bring back twenty recruits, but there was only you, looking pretty ragged," he added, eliciting a chuckle from her. Then, his eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. "I don't know if you saw Daveth and I when you went to the Warden's tent, but I…saw you, sitting outside, crying…it broke my heart to see you like that."

It had been a while since Alice had felt that kick to the gut sensation that was her constant companion for months after Highever. Then, that became glossed over with numbness and despair, soon to give way to blind rage and blood thirst. She could not now recall a night in which she did not close her eyes to the sight of her putting Arl Howe's head on a pike. She had agonized over every detail of how she would visit vengeance upon him and how he would beg for mercy and be denied. But, upon Alistair's words, she found herself a lost little girl again, afraid and alone. She took a breath and tried to speak, but no voice would rise to her lips. She downed a quick swig of Oghren's swill from her flask and this time, she was not silent. "No, I didn't know you were there. Alistair, am I lost? All I desire now is blood and vengeance. I know nothing else now. I don't even know who I am anymore."

"I understand. I hid who I was for so long, the bastard son of King Maric. You know, I lost myself to games and stupid jokes to deflect the truth. I…we will find who you are, Alice."

She grasped his gauntleted hand. "I want the truth. What must I change?"

He gulped hard and looked away and she knew he was always afraid to say something negative. Even when they met his shrew of a sister, Goldanna, he joked at and minimized her scathing, greedy commentary. Did Alice do the right thing in telling him to grow a pair? She could still vividly recall throwing a handful of coppers in Goldanna's face and spitting on the ground in front of the laundress. Well, it was better than spitting her on a poleaxe. She tugged on his hand again.

He looked back at her. "I am concerned about your anger. You've put far too many people to the sword. Not innocents, mind you, but many who have begged for mercy. I…I wish you would soften your heart."

Alice sat back on her behind and rubbed Cyrano on the head. She pondered his words deeply, thinking back to a carefree girl that ran around Highever with a laugh like the tinkle of bells, a girl who would never have dreamed of killing someone in cold blood. She wanted to tell him that he was right and to find that girl again, who was lost in the woods or even dead now, but it was her turn to say something stupid. "That Oghren…I don't know what he puts in that vile concoction. If he added some of the piss of that High Dragon, I wouldn't be surprised."

She could see the disappointment in his eyes, but she bit her lip, pushing out any remorse for now. The discussion was over. It was time to finish this and get those cursed ashes. She let out a big sigh. What did they have to lose by facing this guardian? If she had to kill one more poor soul to end all of this, then so be it. But maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to draw sword.

She stood and crept back up the steps, letting the torches ahead light her way. The man had not moved an inch since she last saw him – it was downright eerie. She looked back down the steps a moment. "I think he's expecting us. I'm going to talk to him. Alistair, Cyrano, Leliana and Wynne, come with me. The rest, keep us covered."

Dampening any earlier doubts that she had, she walked confidently into the room, right up to the magnificent knight. Only then, did he stir.

"I bid you welcome, pilgrims," he said in an inhumanly resonant voice.

Alice knew then that they were dealing with someone entirely preternatural. "You must be the Guardian? I am here for the Urn of Sacred Ashes," she said, her voice just wavering slightly. No sense in being subtle here as there was only one reason to come to this place.

His expression was one of utter serenity and she found herself envying that state of mind. "I have waited a long time for this. For years beyond counting I have been here and shall remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea."

Alice told him that the Imperium was only a shadow of its former self and he seemed to smile at this. He told them that he was one of the disciples of Andraste herself who had carried her body to this temple and established a group of followers to guard her holy remains. His eyes became downcast as he recounted how, over the centuries, the loyal followers lost their way and became the dragon cultists. "They have forgotten that Andraste was only a messenger. They have forgotten the Maker and worship their false Andraste and revel in sin."

"I have dealt with those in Haven," she said. "May I go forth?"

"You have come to honor Andraste and you shall," he said, his voice echoing as if from beyond the Fade, "if you prove yourself worthy."

Again, she knew that there was no sense beating around the bush. "I need the ashes to cure a noble man."

"Still, you must prove yourself. That is not my place to decide and only the Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will be allowed to see the Urn and to take a small portion of the ashes. If not…."

Perhaps there was something to Zevran's constant quips of wanting to walk into a dance or a play or even an orgy. "What must I do?"

"The Gauntlet tells the true pilgrims from the false. You will undergo tests of faith and we shall see how your soul fares. You will only understand what it is when you face it."

Alice looked over to the three that stood by her side and all gave her a resolute nod, Wynne placing a warm hand on her shoulder. The old mage too, had expressed concerns about her fury, but she had dismissed them up to now. Only Sten and Shale seemed immune to the bloodletting. But, the look in Wynne's eyes gave her strength now and she returned a nervous smile. She looked back at the Guardian.

"We are ready."

She half expected the Guardian to step aside, but he crossed his arms. "Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past…your suffering and the suffering of others," he said and she crossed her arms as well, leaning back.

"And…," she said a little defensively.

"You abandoned your parents, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy."

_How does he know? How in Andraste's good name does he know that?_ The psychic kick to the gut was sharp and fierce and it was as if she were back in that larder in Highever, Duncan pulling her away as she screamed at him and clawed at his chest. She could see her mother's eyes, tearful yet brave, her head nodding as Duncan shut the secret door. She could still hear that door shut as if it were the lid of her coffin. Her hand gripped the scabbard of her sword at her hip until her knuckles turned white.

"You think you failed your parents?" he asked calmly as if asking for the time.

Alice's muscles tensed and her fingers slid up onto the grip of her sword. She flared her nostrils and clenched her teeth as she trembled in anger and shame. For the longest of moments, she thought her body might spring on its own, cutting the man down where he stood, but she forced out a shaky breath and held her ground…for now. But, her words came out like a flood. "Yes, dammit, yes, I failed them! Is that what you want to hear? I should have fought to the death. I should have taken as many of Howe's swine with me as I could have."

The Guardian did not even blink in the face of her tirade. "The past weighs heavily on you and you dwell on mistakes, yours and those of others."

Alistair put his hand on her other shoulder. "It's easy for others to judge your actions from hindsight, but it doesn't make it any better." Her knees wobbled, but he bolstered her will. She couldn't tell him how much she appreciated his support.

"What's past is past," Leliana weighed in. "Why bring it up and open old wounds?"

The Guardian then brought his serene inquisition to the other three. Alistair withered under the accusation that he failed to save Duncan and that now, the Wardens were lost. Leliana shed tears as her visions of the Maker were ridiculed and she was called arrogant for assuming herself equal to Andraste. "I never said that!" she said, biting back at the inquisitor. Only Wynne maintained an air of self confidence, tackling his questions about her doubts head on.

Unexpectedly, the Guardian crossed his arms in front of his chest and bowed. He stepped aside and swept his hand back towards the door behind him. "The way is open. May you find what it is that you seek."

Alice took three steps towards the door and then looked back, but the Guardian was gone. The churning feeling in her gut had lessened now and she waved back towards the rest of her party, but only the three around her remained. "What's this? Where's Zevran and the others?" The three looked around, but no sign of the others could be found. Alice took a few steps back, but a shimmering barrier blocked her way. "It seems that we have no choice but to go forward," she said bluntly and then headed through the door.

The following chamber grew even colder and Alice could see her breath steaming through the gap between her visor and bevor. There was movement in the chamber and spectral images flitted from place to place. She slid, foot after foot, forward, hand on the grip of her sword, ready to draw at a moment's notice as ghostly laughter and sobbing echoed through the room. This was more eerie than the Fade had been and a frozen knot formed in her stomach. "Stay your weapons," she said softly. "Let's not provoke anything."

The translucent image of a woman floated by, singing a preternatural lullaby as another woman, heavy with child, rubbed her belly. Alice slowly walked by them as the ghost of a decaying elf knelt and raised his hands up, begging for a home for his people. Then, another woman glided up to her and put her hands on her hips. Her face was full of wrath, nostrils flared and teeth bared in a snarl. For a moment, Alice was reminded of herself. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?"

Alice felt her face twisting up in mirror of the woman and the fire of rage spread through her limbs. She could see Arl Howe's face again and her hands around his throat. "Vengeance."

The woman floated back a pace but her seething tone intensified. "My husband Hessarian would have chosen a quick death for Andraste. I made him swear that she would die, publicly with her warleaders, so that all would know the Imperium's strength," she said proudly, her nose turned up. "I am justice. I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood."

From Brother Aldous' long teachings, Alice knew that this was the ghost of Lady Vasilia, the wife of Archon Hessarian, who had put Andraste to the flame. She knew too that the lady died in madness, shrieking and gibbering about vengeance at unseen spirits until she threw herself from a tower in Minrathous. Would Alice end up like that too? With the taint, all that the future held was madness and death.

Another ghost walked by, his arms held as if he were carrying someone and another floated by, skeletally gaunt as if starving. Alice crept past a brawny man, dressed in barbarian armor, kneeling on the ground and sobbing, begging forgiveness. This was a place of icy cold despair.

One final spirit barred her way and she approached with hesitation. He was a tall man, with a prominent aquiline nose, dressed in the ostentatious black and gold robes of an Archon. This had to be Hessarian, the man who had sent Andraste to the Maker through flame. Unlike the fire of Lady Vasilia, Hessarian seemed shrunken, his shoulders bowed as if he bore a massive weight. He looked into Alice's eyes and spoke as if only to her, "She wields the broken sword and separates true kings from tyrants. This is something that lies dormant in your heart, Alice Cousland. Of what do I speak?"

The question seemed a mystery to her and it was as if she were searching for something in the mists of her mind, a thing just beyond her grasp. Images of heads on pikes flashed in her consciousness and she saw ghastly, accusing eyes staring back at her, some sobbing, some pleading. Many were just bandits on the road who had the misfortune to cross her. Others were Howe's or Loghain's soldiers whom she had tricked into ambushes. One belonged to Prince Bhelen Aeducan, who had murdered his own brothers to usurp the crown of Orzammar. Surely, that man deserved no –

"Mercy…it is mercy that you speak of."

Hessarian took a spectral breath and seemed to grow as if her answer infused him with energy. "I could not bear the sight of Andraste's suffering and mercy bade me end her life. I am the penitent sinner, who shows compassion as he hopes compassion will be shown to him." In a flash of white light, he vanished, leaving the room empty except for the four pilgrims.

Something drew Alice on now and it seemed as if she could not hold herself back. The _clomp_ of her boots on stone accelerated through the halls as she thought about the meaning of Vasilia and Hessarian's words. How could she find mercy through all of this blood? What did that word even mean?

As she led the way into the next chamber, she could see another man, outlined by the light behind. There was something familiar in the way that he stood, the outline of his head. She walked into the light and saw his face and her knees buckled as Cyrano let out a happy yelp.

"Father….how?" she asked as she sagged to her knees.

Teryn Bryce Cousland reached his hands down and grasped hers. The warmth of his skin could be felt even through the leather palms of her gloves. "My dearest child," he said, his voice a ghostly resonance through the room. Yes, it was the same voice though, his wonderful, baritone voice that was filled with love and kindness.

Alice's muscles spasmed and she shook her head slowly, unable to meet his gaze. A hot, moist feeling flooded her cheeks and her breath streamed out in ragged gulps. "I wish it were not so, but I know you are dead."

He squatted down before her and tugged at her hands, getting her to look up. "You know that I am gone and all your wishes and prayers will not bring me back. Pup," he said, using the nickname that always annoyed her as a teen, "I know that you miss me but, my death and my life no longer have any hold over you. This is how it should be. Set your eyes on the horizon and do not look back or falter."

She wanted to say something, but she was afraid to stop him or he might vanish like the other ghosts. She let him pull her to her feet so that they might stand, face to face.

"You have such a long road ahead of you," he continued. "And you must be prepared. And so, I leave this in your hands…I know that you will do good things with it." He brought his hands up to her head and undid the straps to her sallet. He removed the helmet and throat guard and handed it to Alistair with a soft smile and a nod. "As I once did with Duncan, I now entrust the care of my daughter to you, my king."

Bryce then reached around Alice's head and flipped her black hair up so that he could tie a pendant around her neck. She could feel the warmth of his fingers on her skin now. She could feel his breath on her ear and his cheek on hers.

How could this not be real? "Keep this in remembrance of our family and find what is in your heart," he told her. He began to step back, but she wrapped her arms around him, refusing to let go. Try as she might, she couldn't stop the flood of emotions from cresting over the dam that she had built, day after day, week after bloody week since Ostagar until the stones of that dam collapsed under its own weight. She dug her fingers into her father's back and clung to him like a wet rag, sobbing like an infant.

Tears flowed down onto Bryce's satin doublet, soaking the crimson and gold material. "I can't leave you again, father, I can't."

"Forgive me, pup. Forgive yourself," he said softly into her ear and then, like a thousand grains of sand, he slipped through her fingers into a mist.

She toppled back into Alistair's arms and began thrashing around, searching for her father. "Where? Where did…no!" She crumpled to the ground, fighting against Alistair's grip and clawed at the ground, her metal gauntlets scraping on stone.

"Shhh, shhh, Alice, it's all right. I've got you," Alistair said in a cooing voice, wrapping his arms around her as Cyrano licked her face. All of her will left her then and she let out one last moan before falling limp, weakly pounding the ground with her fist. Like at Ostagar, all she could do now was rock back and forth, her hands over her face.

A clapping sound broke into her pitiful wailing and she wiped her eyes with the palm of her gloved hand. "What a wonderful play," a surly, sarcastic voice cut in. "Bravo…bravo. The Couslands were ever the dramatic bunch."

Alice snarled, snot and spit spraying from her face. "Arl Howe! I'll have your head!" she shouted and broke free of Alistair's grip with a twist of her body. The strength and speed that she had acquired in the Fade were frightening and she bolted at the Arl before anyone could move, but he turned and ran just as quickly.

"Alice, no!" she heard Alistair shout and saw Leliana and Cyrano try and follow, but she chased the murderous traitor through twists and turns in the hall.

_To be continued_


	15. Mercy Part II

W/N - I am ever so grateful for your support and input, everyone. It's really helped me to script the story and tighten my writing. Here is part II of Mercy. There are some portents of possible romance. I'm also trying to introduce some whimsy into the story that reflects the game play. I want to show Leliana too, as a fanatic in this one area. This may be a turning point for her too. I'm already thinking about how the Loghain confrontation will go and I'm planning a whimsical Feast Day chapter. CODEX - riveted chainmail. Each link has a flattened area where a rivet goes though to strengthen the protective quality of the armor by preventing rings from splitting. Poleaxe. A polearm that has an axe, a hammer, and a spike fixed at the head of the pole. A devastating melee weapon.

Other malarkey - I think all of the kendo bouts are finally, finally complete. I had to referee tonight. I also taught the beginner's Iaido class. I narrowly defeated my sensei in a 2-1 bout. I scored right away and then held off a wave of attacks for two minutes before getting a flank cut in. If you're curious, my new avatar is me on the right, scoring a _men kaeshi do_ on my husband. He made a head attack, I parried it, and delivered a flank cut. _Do Ari!_

Please enjoy and have a happy holiday. Shinnen Omedeto Gozaimasu! (Happy New Year!)

**The Temple of the Urn of Sacred Ashes**

Alice darted left and right, always two steps behind Howe. She'd turn another corner only to see his backside flit down another hallway. With each lope of her long legs, she drew deeper and deeper into that reservoir of rage that powered her feral warcry. She had trained countless hours with Duncan and then later with Alistair, Oghren and Sten until they could no longer challenge her. She was relentless in the pursuit of physical and martial perfection for this one moment that she now faced. Some nights, after a thousand strokes against a tree with a wooden stick, only Leliana's singing could lull her to sleep. As she rubbed a balm onto Alice's raw hands, Leli's melodic voice would sooth that savage anger until it faded into the background of dreams. But now, that fury was in full bloom and she would not…_dared_ not fail her father again.

Somehow, she knew that this could not be real, but it didn't matter to her. The murderous traitor was _this_ close now, so close she could smell him. Tapping into incredible stamina for a final sprint, she came around another bend and Howe turned suddenly, thrusting the tip of his sword at her face. She barely had time to duck under the attack and rammed him in the chest with her armored shoulder, slamming him flat on his back. Howe grunted as the wind was knocked out of him and Alice knelt down on his chest and drew her sword, which crackled with electricity along the blade. She let out a feral yell and drew her arm back, but a boot slammed into her temple, sending her sprawling. White hot dots of pain danced in her vision and she vaguely saw a sword stroke coming down on her head. On instinct, she pushed the pommel of her weapon up at an angle and his attack glanced down and off of her blade away into the stone.

Using both hands, Alice twirled her sword back over her head and pulled it down in a cut at Howe's neck. With a sneer, he inched back out of range and knocked the attack away with his dagger at the same time slicing at her underarm with his sword. Howe was fast, almost as fast as she was. Again, she dipped the tip of her sword, pushing the pommel up and Howe's blade glanced up and into her hilt with the _clang_ of metal on metal. This was right where she wanted him. She swiveled her arms downward, using her body weight and the hilts to trap his blade. She couldn't help but grin at him now.

Then, pushing her arms up at his head, she raked the silverite quillons of her hilt across his face, gouging his cheek and he fell back with an agonized cry, dropping his dagger. He began to rise, but she smashed his ear with a bone-crushing stomp of her armored boot and he collapsed to the ground like a boned fish.

She could hear Leliana and the hound rushing up behind her along with Alistair and Wynne, who was huffing and puffing. Alice paced like a tigress in front of Howe, growling and clenching her fists on the grip of her sword, over and over. She kicked him again in the ribs and a cracking sound resonated in the room. There was only a weak groan this time. With her foot, she slid his sword and dagger away, out of reach and sheathed her own sword. She drew her poignard and knelt down over him. It was time to get up close and personal with a moment of true intimacy.

"Alice…," Wynne said from behind. "Alice, he's _not_ real."

Alice rolled Howe over so that he could face her and blood ran freely from his mouth and nose and his eyes were glazed over. For good measure, she smote him on the chin with the spiked gauntlet that she had spent hours polishing to razor perfection and teeth clattered on the ground. Then, she held the triangular dagger over him to show him its wicked tip, meant for cruelly puncturing plate armor and skulls. "I've waited a long time for this, fiend."

He began to mouth words, gurgling up more blood. "M…mercy."

His word froze Alice in her tracks. She blinked heavily, tears still thick in her eyes from her encounter with her father. She could see Alistair on the other side of Howe, his face pleading with her. She could hear his earlier words in her mind, begging her to relent from her destructive path of vengeance and madness. Her hands, wrapped in a death grip around the handle of the poignard, began to quiver.

Howe spoke again. "Mercy."

Her quivering became uncontrollable and she willed her hands to plunge the poignard into Howe's eye, but the dagger would not move. Alice cried out in frustration and threw the weapon into a wooden post, its tip burying several inches into the beam. She stood and turned, not caring if Howe would stab her in the back. She was beyond all caring right now. What was she if she could not finish the deed, the only deed that mattered to her? There was a _whoosh_ and she looked back to see Howe evaporating into mist and shadow, her vengeance now nothing but a dream.

She looked to the curious faces of her friends, but did not want to talk about it at the moment. She was in no mood and her sour face told them to back off. Perhaps later, besides the fire, she might loosen her tongue. Her camp followers, Bodahn Feddic and Levi Dryden always seemed to be able to get her to open up. And Sandal, bless his lyrium-addled heart, she could talk to him for hours even though he hadn't a clue as to what she was saying. _Enchantment? Enchantment! _Sometimes, better that way.

Alice recovered her dagger and then motioned them on and they quickly crossed a bridge that looked like the entrance into a dragon's mouth, full of spiky stone-like teeth. They rushed across and the hallway beyond began to grow warm and then hot. The sight of a wall of flames, licking up towards the ceiling, came into view. Beyond the raging inferno was a grand staircase to a massive marble statue of Andraste, standing at least sixty feet in height. Andraste's face looked up towards the heavens with an expression of serenity while one hand reached skyward and the other reached down to the people below, beckoning them to approach and be healed. Alice stopped on a dime and gasped, her eyes taking in the spectacle. Then, she saw it, a tiny bronze urn that stood proudly in the shadow of the statue. "There, I see it, the Urn!"

Wynne took a deep breath. "I always thought it was a legend. I…I am in awe."

Leliana took a few steps forward and then fell to her knees, raising the palms of her hands towards the figure of Andraste. "I _never_ doubted. I _never_ wavered. Oh, Maker, I am here!"

Alice rubbed the bard's back gently and then cupped her cheek. "Yes, we are, Leliana, thanks to you. Your vision guided us."

An altar stood before the wall of fire that separated them from the Urn. It was little more than a dusty stone slab with an inscription carved into its face. Alice stood over the altar and read the words aloud, "Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar, be born anew in the Maker's sight." She had an inkling of what that might mean, but she wasn't entirely sure. "So…uhhhh?"

Consumed by the fervor of this holy moment, Leliana wasted no time in sitting down and yanking off her boots and socks. Alice always thought Leli's faith a bit quirky and sometimes contradictory, but the Urn and the bard's visions surrounding them seemed to be sacrosanct. The Warden continued to watch, a little stunned as the bard unwrapped her battledress, pulled her wool and cotton padding over her head and then slid off her small clothes, standing as bare as the day she was born. Leliana looked around at the others, especially Alistair with his round eyes, and smirked.

"What? You've never seen a naked woman?"

Alistair coughed and blushed two shades of red. "Well, actually…no."

Leli shrugged. "Oh…. Well, I am pure in the sight of the Maker."

Alice had to grin. As the saying went, 'when in Minrathous, do as the Minrathousians.' She quickly undid the straps of her armor, one by one. Full plate armor was not an easy thing to take on or off and it was a cumbersome process. By the time she got just her arms uncovered, Wynne was already finished and was helping Alistair to pull his cuirass off. Leliana scampered up to Alice on bare feet and started yanking on straps and buckles. They pulled off the faulds covering her waist and hips and then the cuisses covering the thighs.

Leli slid around back and removed the solid metal back piece and then massaged Alice's neck for a moment. "My, you're very tense. I could work on that knot for you later," she said with a giggle that made Alice wonder what came between Leli and Marjolaine for the bard was certainly a pretty thing. All she knew was that Marjolaine had betrayed Leli somehow and that it led to the Leli's becoming a lay sister in the Chantry. The cloistered life was a far cry from the Orlesian Game, so, whatever it was must have been traumatic indeed.

With tugs and pulls, metal plates, leather, riveted mail and wool and cotton padding came off, bit by bit until Leliana yanked down Alice's small clothes and slapped her on her bare behind, eliciting a bit of a yelp. The Warden had to admit that Leli's faith was sometimes selective, but it added to her mystique and intrigue. She looked over to see Alistair staring in their direction, his hands over his 'junk' as Oghren would say. His face was now nearly as red as the flames and he gave them a sheepish grin. Only Cyrano didn't seem to get what all the fuss was about.

Alice took a deep breath. She took one last look at the wall of fire and then grasped Leliana's and Alistair's hands. The heat of the flames was intense, but if ever there was a moment in time that she needed faith, it was now. "Are we ready? On three. One, two, three!" The hound let out a bark and they all charged through the fire.

She flinched for a moment, but the heat evaporated, replaced by a cooling caress over her skin, causing goose pimples to rise. The feeling was exhilarating and she let forth a carefree laugh, one that she thought was lost in the distant echoes of faded memory. It was as if an old friend had come through the snow to visit on Feast Day. She gently squeezed Alistair's hand and felt him return the gesture.

Then, they were through.

"You have been through the trials of the gauntlet," the Guardian's voice called, resonating in the room. Alice turned to see the man, a vortex of wind and fire swirling around him like a tornado. "You have walked the path of Andraste and like her, you have been cleansed," he said, lowering his head in a sign of respect. "You have proven yourselves worthy, pilgrims." He strode out of the flames and gestured up toward the towering statue and the inferno died away, the last licks of bright orange crackling up into the ceiling and puffing out in a wisp of smoke. "Approach the glory of Andraste."

Familiar voices called out from the side of the room. "Oh, I finally get to walk into a chamber full of naked bodies," Zevran said with a lecherous grin. He gave Alistair a salacious leer and wink that made the poor Templar jump back two steps before letting his eyes settle on Alice and Leliana. "I knew you two ladies would come to your senses with Zev, no? It was bound to happen."

Sten merely crossed his arms, but Oghren downed a swig of his piss water mead and nodded with a grin. "Nice!" he exclaimed to which Shale shook her stone head, the gemstones covering her body glowing a fierce red.

"Bah, a lack of covering just makes them look even _more_ squishy. My dreams will be forever scarred. Revolting."

Alice tried to form a snappy comeback, but she saw Leliana bolt up the stairs towards the Urn. She tapped Cyrano on his furry head and pointed back towards the altar. "Get us some clothes! Meet me at the top," she said and then pointed up the steps. The hound yapped and then sprung back to the entrance, his paws scrabbling on the stone. Alice bound up the steps after Leli and could see that a flame now flickered in Andraste's skyward hand. With a final push of her legs, she crested the top where Leliana knelt, the palms of her hands placed on the elaborately crafted bronze Urn that bore images of symbolic fires.

Leliana called out, "Let the blade pass through the flesh. Let my blood touch the ground. Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice!"

Just behind Alice, Alistair and Wynne huffed up the last steps, holding a smattering of shirts and breeches that Cyrano had brought them. Alice absentmindedly grabbed a big linen shirt that still had dog drool on it, but it mattered not to her. Wynne wrapped a cloak around herself and placed the palms of her hands together.

"I could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here. I will never forget this feeling," the old mage said with deep reverence.

Alice placed a cloak over Leliana's shoulders and knelt with her. It had been so long since she felt such a deep reverence in the bosum of her soul. She'd always considered herself modestly faithful, but it was impossible to be before the remains of blessed Andraste and not be moved. The bard grasped the Urn in both hands and turned to face Alice, holding the vessel up to the Warden.

"Please Alice, do the honor of taking the pinch of ashes."

Alice was speechless and swallowed down a lump in her throat. This had already been an emotionally wrenching day, but it was now blessed with joy. She nodded as Alistair passed her a leather pouch and then she slowly removed the lid to see the deep reservoir of gray ashes. Hesitant to even touch the remains, she looked back to see the Guardian smile and nod. Then, with bare fingers, she pinched the dust, feeling its grit on her skin. She let the ashes fall into the pouch and pulled the drawstring tight.

Leliana placed the Urn back on the pedestal and replaced the lid. She grasped Alice's hand and Alice could see the tears of joy streaming down her face. "Rest at the right hand of the Maker," the bard said. "And be forgiven."

"Forgiveness," Alice whispered as if in a dream. Along with mercy, it was another word lost from her vocabulary. What did it even mean? She wiped Leliana's tears with her fingers, leaving a small smudge of soot on Leli's cheek. Then, she turned to Wynne and grasped the old mage's hand. "In my foolishness and rage, I dismissed your wisdom. I shall not make the same mistake again."

Wynne gave her that knowing smile and a squeeze of her hand. No more needed to be said.

Lastly, she faced Alistair and tried to smile, but her lips would not curl. She wiped her nose with the sleeve of the oversized shirt. "Oh darn, sorry, this is your shirt. I'll get it laundered…but not with your sister. I'm sorry, but Goldanna's a shrew," she said and knew that she was rambling.

He gripped her shoulders tight and shook her gently to get her to stop. He looked into her eyes and she could see a little bit of King Maric in them. Indeed, Alistair had grown in mind and soul. "Forgiveness," was all he said and she buried her face into the crook of his neck, wrapping her arms around his chest, afraid that he, too, might vanish into mist and shadow.


	16. Rose

W/N - I had a tough time with this one and went through a couple rewrites. This one takes a lighthearted tone before we get back to some of the darkness. I wanted to play around with some of the NPC's and introduce the Feast Day theme for some whimsical fun, paying homage to a few of the odd gifts. Just remember what Morrigan got. I also wanted to draw on how knights train and add a realistic element to that. At this point, the camp pretty much has an army and I want to give it that feel.

Other malarkey - I won the 2010 Winter Kendo Shiai! My final bout was against a fellow who is 6'1", 200 lbs of muscle, whom I defeated, 2-0. On the stupid side, I snapped the blade of my Iaito (training sword). New Year's was a wonderfest - Evan took me out to Morton's Steak House. We celebrated at sensei's too, pounding mochi and having Ozoni soup.

I hope you all had a happy new year and thank you again for all of your input and support. Onegaishimasu!

Warning: Some sensuality dedicated to hubs.

**Camp**

It was not a frequent thing where Alistair felt, in any way, a conquering hero. But today, on this fine, crisp afternoon, he stood up in the stirrups over his saddle and waved his gloved hand to the sentries at the entrance to the camp, a big smile on his face. "I know that we're not out of the woods yet, by any stretch of the imagination," he leaned over and told Alice, "but I've come to cherish each small victory as it comes."

At a slow walk, their horses' hooves _clip clopping_ on the scrubby ground, they approached the sentries, who wore the Cousland livery over green and silver surcoats, poleaxes crossed to bar the way. Alice turned to him and nodded. "I think I understand. For months, we faced utter ruin every day, just hoping we would survive. For the first time…the first time in months, I feel hopeful. I feel as if we might actually…," she said, but her voice trailed off into silence.

"Live through this?"

"Something like that," she said with a wan smile. Then, she too, pushed up on her stirrups. "Ho there, guards! We have returned with the ashes. Make preparations to depart on the morrow, just after dawn. We march to Redcliffe."

The four men-at-arms, who had been with her since the horror of Highever, greeted her with a hearty, "Huzzah!" and raised their weapons to clear the path. By the time that they had passed the post, grooms were already rushing up and taking the reins of the horses and murmurs of the party's return were rising in the camp.

Alistair swung his right boot over the horse's rump and then bounced down on the soft grass as his mount began chewing on some tall weeds. A few moments later, Shale jogged up behind them, her gemstones glowing a bright green.

"Staring at those squishy horses' asses _all_ day! Oh, the _indignity_."

The grooms led the mounts off to a shady area where combs and brushes, oats and hay waited. "Remember when our camp was nothing but collection of bedrolls and a smoldering fire? It was so…adventurous then…so outdoorsy," he said, pointing off at the tents and the soldiers drilling on an open field. Dalish archers fired into straw targets, dwarven axemen hewed at logs and Cousland pikemen marched in tight formation, turning right and left at sharp commands.

"It's quite the army we've built," Alice said, her lips pressed in an expression of pride. "Look over there," she said as she pulled off her doeskin riding gloves and tucked them into her sword belt. "I never get tired of seeing the mages ply their magic. And look at Sandal, hammering out runes for them," she added with a contented sigh. Alistair liked seeing her this way – not the crazed Furie that left a long path of bodies and heads for the ravens and crows to feast upon.

"The treaties that you found are paying off, Alice. We now have a force greater than any Bann in the kingdom."

"But only through constant drill can we forge a true army," she answered as she strode past the tilting field where lancers rode by, striking a shield on a swivel, known as a quintain. A Cousland knight charged, the hooves of his horse throwing up grass and dirt, the _thrum_ of its gallop loud. His lance glanced off of the target, hitting high-right. The shield swung away and a sack of grain came around and smacked the knight in the back of the head. "Your aim is off, Ser Joseph!" she yelled. "Keep your arm flexible – you're committing to the attack too soon!"

The man pulled the reins of his horse and brought it to a halt and then raised the visor of his sallet helm. "Aye, my lady! Welcome back."

She waved a farewell at the knight and they continued on to the Warden's tent that bore the placard of a griffon _argent_, rampant. As they approached, Bann Armand, Fergus' chief councilor, stepped out. He was gravely wounded in the action before Ostagar, but it looked as if he was fully recovered. Armand stood tall and proudly and was dressed in stately robes of blue velvet, trimmed with ermine and wore a pleated blue flatcap with a jaunty feather.

"My lady…Prince Alistair, welcome back and congratulations on your success in Haven," he said with a bow and flourish. "The army has made great progress since your departure to find the Urn. Bodahn Feddic and I have procured fifty additional mounts, gathered three fields worth of elfroot and another troop of dwarves arrived yesterday. They call themselves the Legion of the Dead. And, by the Maker, they look the part. All tattooed like those Dalish over there and armored head to toe like little rocks, they are."

The sound of the word 'prince' tasted like a strange fruit on Alistair's tongue, sort of like that Qunari pear that Sten had split with him recently. The word was used with him more frequently since Leliana let the cat out of the bag in the Dalish camp last month, but he still winced whenever he heard it in reference to him. He looked over and saw several score of the dwarves, shod in black armor, drilling with spear and axe. "It's a sight to behold," he said. "We are stronger with each ally. Hey, isn't that the dwarf you beat at the Orzammar Proving?"

Alice put her hand over her brow and scanned over to where the Legion was drilling. "Uh, you're going to have to be more specific, Alistair. Everyone I defeated there was a dwarf."

"Oh…oh, right," he said, drawing out the word to hide his embarrassment. "The one there…with the thick beard. Oh, blast, they all have thick beards. What was his name? Sue Ellen…Seweryn, that was it." Alistair felt his cheeks flush red. How could he say such stupid thing in front of her? In the time since Alice practically ordered him to 'grow a pair' during the fiasco with Goldanna, he tried to show more of a spine, especially around his fellow Warden. However, there were still frequent times when it felt like cotton was stuffed into his mouth and brain when he tried to carry on a conversation with her. With _the moment_ potentially approaching, it made him even more flustered.

A surprised smile grew on her face. "You're right, that is Seweryn," she said and then looked to Armand. "Did he come to join us?"

Armand nodded. "Indeed. He told me that you had defeated him so thoroughly in a tourney that he could not live with himself if he did not prove his worthiness to you."

Alice's eyes opened wide and she sucked in her lips as if shocked. "I'm flattered. I'll go and greet him and the other new arrivals later. I'd like to sit a bit and refresh after our journey. Do you have the latest scouting and agent reports?"

The Bann handed Alice a scroll that was bound in red cord and bore a crimson wax seal with the Cousland heraldry pressed into it. She pulled the tie and snapped the seal to unroll the parchment. "Alistair," she said after reading a few lines, "Our sources in Denerim say that Loghain will soon be on the move again. Several of the Bann refuse to acknowledge him as lord regent and have fielded a sizable force."

Alistair felt a heat rise into his face, but this time, it was the fire of justice. "This may be our chance to put Loghain in his place." He held the Teyrn of Gwaren responsible for, what he considered to be Duncan and Cailan's murder and the ruin of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. "Could we put the army into the field by the time he marches?"

Together, they read further down the parchment and Alice put her hand to her chin. "Do we risk our fledgling force in open battle and try to weaken Loghain's grip or do we keep our cards secret for now and surprise him later?"

"I think we have to move to support the disgruntled Bann or this will allow Loghain to consolidate power," he said forcefully.

Alice put her hand on his chest and he felt a jolt of energy at her touch. "I like it when you have some _oomph_ to your argument. We will have a counsel or war later this evening. I'd like to hear everyone's opinions. But, remember, we still have to get the ashes to Arl Eamon."

He nodded. It was true. Seeing Eamon helpless and withering away really broke his heart. He blamed the Arl and especially Isolde for much, but Eamon didn't deserve this. He remembered how he praised Loghain before the Blight and how he loved telling the story of the Battle of River Dane. It seemed like forever ago and so many things had changed. "Yes, you're right. That takes the priority. Eamon can stand as the bulwark against Loghain and hopefully galvanize resistance."

"Anything that we do that weakens Loghain and Howe, strengthens us." She then turned to Bann Armand. "Please prepare for the counsel, Armand, and make sure the gems and supplies that we brought back get to Bodahn."

"As you wish, my lady," he said and then withdrew with a bow.

Alistair pushed the tent flaps in and the walked in to find a seat. Alice plopped down on a bench and let out a deep groan. It had been a long ride back from Haven and both of them were about numb from the waist down. Already unarmored, she started to pull off her boots, but groaned again and just sat back. He chuckled and took a stool across from her. "I don't think I can feel my toes," he said as he slung his sack from over his shoulder and put it on a table. He had been waiting to get her alone since they set out from Haven. There were things he wanted to say…something that he needed to give to her. He snuck his hand into the sack, searching, hoping that she wouldn't notice. "I…uhhh…so-" he began, but a rap on the tent stopped him. "Come in."

_Buuuuurrp!_ "Wardens, haha, that was an ass kicking expedition!" Orgren said, swooping his fist in an undercut. He took a seat next to Alice and poked her in the chest. "You have a flair for the dramatic, Warden, killing that dragon was awesome!" he added, clenching his fists in front of her. "If I still have any kind of caste when this is done, I'm going to make sure your story goes into the Shaperate."

Alistair forced a smile, but inside his mind was screaming, _not now, Ogrhen, not now!_ He stood and put his hands on the dwarf's shoulders. "That's great. I believe Sten wanted to discuss that with you further."

"Did he, that big hulking mountain of Qunari meat? Well, let me at him. I'll talk his ear off!"

"Sten is the type who loves a good, spirited chat. Off with you, now. We'll see you this evening," Alistair said and ushered Oghren out the exit. He returned to his stool and sighed. "Now, as I was saying…,"

_Rap rap._

Alistair rolled his blue eyes. "Yes?"

Bodahn Feddic clomped in with Sandal in tow. "Alice, those gems are magnificent! I'll be able to purchase enough armor and weapons to outfit the whole army. Old Tegrin has this connection in Orzammar and I know Gorim in Denerim too. I've got all of your Feast Day gifts wrapped. And, those runes you brought back…truly from the horde of a High Dragon!"

Sandal bounced like a rubber ball. "Enchantment!"

Alistair winced. He stood again and guided Bodahn to the exit with a firm hand. "Wonderful! I can't tell you how grateful we are. Have a good day," he said as he waved to Bodahn and held the tent flap up to let Sandal scurry. He turned and smiled at Alice and she let out a giggle. He was stunned. He had never heard that come from her. For months, the only mirth that she had ever shown was a bitter cackle at the demise of their enemies. He recalled that laugh and that sneer as she stood over the body of Prince Bhelen Aeducan and later the skinned bodies of werewolves in the forest and it still chilled him to the bone. It was nothing short of a miracle that they convinced the wolves to relent and lift the curse.

"Wow, you have a nice laugh. I didn't think you could do that sort of thing."

She paused and put her finger to her lips as if thinking. "Since we left the Temple of the Urn, I feel…I feel as if a great weight has been lifted from me. Seeing my father and knowing that he forgives me…. I cannot tell you how much that meant to me. For so long I felt like I was falling into an abyss. I didn't know who was the greater threat to Ferelden, me or the Archdemon."

"Oh, nonsense, we both know that the Archdemon is _much_ less of a threat," he said in mock seriousness, looking down his nose at her. She didn't react and just stared back at him. _Oh Maker, I ruined it. I'm such an idiot._

Then, a smirk ran across her lips and she threw his Grey Warden hand puppet at him. "I'm going to remember that," she said with a point of her finger.

Alistair sighed with relief. "Hey! That's my favorite puppet." He picked it up and set it back on the desk, propping it in a seated position. He gave it a glance and noticed something was wrong. "What…someone put lipstick…and breasts on my puppet! I'll bet it was that Zevran!"

Alice looked at the doll and studied it for a second before seeing the alterations. "Well, it is almost Feast Day. Pranks are sure to follow. I'm going to slip this chastity belt into his pack tonight."

"And what, pray tell, did you get Morrigan, I wonder?"

Alice looked away and her face blushed red. She coughed several times before answering. "I, uhhh, I got her a doll too. She mentioned somewhere that she, uhhh, wanted one."

"Oh, what kind of a doll?"

"It's uhhh, it's…hey," she said, pointing to a small red cone. "I got this from Sten. It's that incense that he was talking about." She pulled out a match and lit the top of the cone, which began to smolder and a trail of fragrant smoke wafted through the tent. "Mmmm," she said, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, "he wasn't kidding about how wondrous this is."

Alistair let the musky aroma linger in his nose. It had an energizing effect that seemed to heighten his senses and bring clarity of mind. Now was the time. This was the moment. He reached into his sack once more.

_Rap rap_.

"What is it?" Alistair moaned in frustration.

Leliana and Brother Genitivi burst in. Leli practically oozed excitement. "Alice, we've come up with a splendid idea! When the war is over, the Brother and I are going to establish a pilgrimage to Haven."

"The faithful will want to see the ashes," Genitivi added.

Alistair forced another smile. "Well, I hope there will be enough of Andraste to go around then. I think it's a grand idea. We'll hear all about it tonight. Thanks for coming. Off with you, now."

Genitivi had a look of consternation while Leliana's mouth formed a big 'O.' "Well, I never…," she said as Alistair closed the tent flap in her face. He sat back down with a heavy sigh. It was now or never.

Alice's grin was ear to ear now. "You're working awfully hard for this."

"You don't know the half of it," he said. "Look, I'm not very good at this sort of thing. In fact, I've never done this before. I…I have something that I want to give you." He reached into his sack and his fingers wrapped around the object that he had so carefully prepared. He paid Bodahn some serious coin to have it perfectly preserved and Sandal even added some of that enchantment to give it that touch. He knew it would be worth it. "Uhhh, here. I hope you like it."

Alice looked down at the rose, plated in silverite and masterfully painted in deep red and green – a gift that would keep forever. Her eyes widened and her lips parted with a gasp. "Oh, Maker, Alistair…it's beautiful." She took the rose and turned it in her hands, gazing on the petals. "I…thank you so much."

He blew out a long breath. He played this scene in his mind for a month. Had it been a month? It was a feeling that crept up on him like the feet of a cat. He had seen her exhibit some horrendous cruelty, but she always found a kind word for him and never ridiculed his weakness…well, maybe once with Goldanna, but ironically, that gave him the courage to do this today. "It reminded me of you, Alice, beautiful and yet fragile," he said and moved over to sit besides her on the bench. "I picked it near the Brecilian Forest and Bodahn helped me to preserve it. Consider it your feast day gift."

She waved it under her nose. "It still has scent as if it were fresh."

"Thank Sandal for that. I had no idea there was a rune for smell."

Alice passed the rose under his nostrils and he inhaled the rich, floral scent that mixed with the musky incense. She reached out and stroked his cheek with long fingers that had more than a few calluses from swordplay. Her touch was electrifying nonetheless. He breathed deeply, afraid that this was just a mad dream. As a Templar, he was often haunted by visions of things that he wanted, but would never have. The things that Alistair wanted were never important, never possible…until now. He looked into her big gray eyes, eyes like a storm at sea. Her lips were still parted and she flipped her hair back with a brush of her hand. He could wait no longer or be forever a fool.

He ran his fingers through her raven locks down to the back of her neck and slowly pulled her to him. As their lips met, he could feel the warmth of her body on his and her hands cupping his face, tenderly at first, but then growing in urgency. Her breath quickened and she deftly undid bows holding her riding doublet in place. Alistair fingers fumbled around as he helped her out of the leather vest. "I've never done this before," he said as his face flushed with some embarrassment. "I'd never even seen a woman…you know…before the Temple."

Alice slid off her riding breeches and her linen shirt. His breath left him for a moment. She was exactly as he remembered her from the temple. It was something that he would never forget. "You might want to get used to it," she said as her small clothes slid off. He moved back for a moment to drink in the sight of her, sitting there, dreamy eyed, wearing only her riding boots.

He moved back in and put his hands on her waist. "The Maker may strike me down tomorrow, but I'll always have today in my heart."


End file.
